


Song of the Lioness

by RavenOutlander



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Belle/Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Minor Character Death, Not a Crossover, Slow Build Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan, Swan Queen Supernova 2019 (Once Upon a Time), The witcher series AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-04 23:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 89,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenOutlander/pseuds/RavenOutlander
Summary: ‘Evil is evil... Lesser, greater, middling, it’s all the same. Proportions are negotiated, boundaries blurred. I’m not a pious hermit. I haven't done only good in my life. But if I’m to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all.’Everything changed the day Emma Swan disappeared into Jefferson’s hat. When she returns, she’s no longer the same person that left. She turns Regina’s life upside down and leave the Mayor gasping for breath.As elusive threats loom on the horizon, can they put a stop to the dark forces that want to pull them apart? Or will they perish underneath the boots of their oppressors?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarconistia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarconistia/gifts), [Eliam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliam/gifts).
  * Inspired by [[Art] Song of the Lioness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20381932) by [Sarconistia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarconistia/pseuds/Sarconistia). 

> I'd like to thank and dedicate this fic to my cheerleader, Emile, whom without this would have been finished in 2039. Thank you for all of your encouragement and support. I couldn't have done this without you and I'm so glad we had been paired together. There aren't enough characters to say how much you meant to me in this challenge, so I'll keep it short. This piece is for you.
> 
> I would also like to say thank you to my artist, Sarconistia. The preview you had shown me looked amazing and I cannot wait to see the final piece.

_You know what she is don’t you? You know what she is capable of?’_

_‘I do.’_

_‘Do you really? If she finds out about this; about our plans—’_

_‘She’ll never know. No one ever will suspect us.’_

_‘And if they do? If she finds out?’_

_‘We’ll slaughter them. Every last one.’_

* * *

Henry felt heavy in her arms. She supposed it must be because of the fatigue, but that was the lie she was telling herself. Emma could tell things were different between them ever since she and Mary Margaret had returned from the Enchanted Forest. Between all of them, really.

There was a good ten years between them and the others. The others were still the same when they had left, young and full of life. Emma’s legs felt heavy as she walked, her armor adding extra weight to her well-built form.

She wondered if she would outlive them. A Witcher’s life spans were incredibly long. During her time at the _School of the Lion_ she had met other witchers that has lived for over several centuries and then they merely looked like middle-aged men and women.

The _Jolly Roger_ swerved to the side and Emma nearly lost her balance, almost tumbling into one of the posts as she walked. She heard Regina moving hastily behind her, most likely wanting to catch her so that she didn’t fall over and end up hurting the slumbering boy in her arms. However, Emma was nothing if not agile on her feet.

She secured her stance, tightening her grasp on Henry and kept herself upright. Emma spared a glance in Regina’s direction and locked eyes with the sorceress briefly. 

Most people didn’t trust sorceress’s, but they were far above witchers in the hierarchy. Even Regina was several ghouls and wraiths above Emma. The blonde could even read the mistrust in the woman’s russet eyes, her orbs scanning Emma’s yellow, catlike eyes. 

Over the years she had earned Mary Margaret’s trust. In fact, it had come quite easily. Her mother had supported her decision to join the scholae and Emma had begun the transformation with Mary Margaret by her side. It was the reason that all she and David had done since their return was fight. He couldn’t stand the fact that his daughter was one of them.

The townspeople didn’t take too well to having Emma as their savior anymore either. There were a few odd ones out, such as Granny and Ruby, but mostly because they were magical creatures. _Lycanthropes_ with moral codes to be precise. However, they were the only ones who didn’t mind Emma’s changes.

Henry didn’t have the same problem as the others. He kept going on and on about how cool it was that his mother had all these different powers, and rules, and meditations. He even admired her, and for once Emma found herself able to look in the mirror once again. Even if it was only for a few split-seconds.

Emma sat down with a thud on the bed, located in the Captain’s quarters. The furniture groaned in protest, but, then again, so did the rest of the old ship. So, it could have just been her imagination playing tricks on her, telling her she needed to lay off of the chimera.

The sneaky adolescent crawled under the covers without any protest. His whole body disappeared, and Emma saw a flash of a smile before all that remained was his tuft of brown locks. An amused smile made its way onto Emma’s face, not reaching her eyes like all emotions she usually felt. 

Henry hadn’t been asleep. He just wanted to be carried.

She couldn’t blame him. Emma had missed him so much her heart still ached when she thought back to Greg and Tamara leaping through the portal. She still wished her father hadn’t stopped her from diving after them or before when she wanted to gut Neal’s fiancée the moment, she found out she was a traitor.

The ship swerved again and Regina, who’d been standing close by, lost her her balance. She tumbled over her own two feet and Emma’s reflexes kicked in. She flew off the bed and effortlessly caught the woman in her arms, registering briefly how light the brunette was.

Emma’s trained eyes caught a glimpse of a blush, but it disappeared as soon as Regina straightened herself. She pushed off Emma, clearing her voice awkwardly. She then motioned vaguely to the slumbering boy, her eyes breaking briefly with the witcher.

‘I’m going to sleep here with him.’

It wasn’t a question. There was a challenge in her voice as if she expected Emma to fight her on the matter. Her shoulders tensed and Emma knew the woman was preparing herself for the onslaught of insults she thought was coming her way.

Emma didn’t want to fight, however. There had been enough of that over the past few months ever since she and Mary Margaret came home, and even more so the year when she had first arrived in Storybrooke. 

She trusted Regina, more than she trusted herself around Henry. Years of curses and mistrust made Emma even fearful of herself. Witchers weren’t people she even trusted. A lot of them were numb to emotions; didn’t feel nor did they even care.

Silver for the creatures in the woods, steel for the people in their stone castles; both swords were for monsters, and neither were for mercy.

‘I’ll take the floor,’ Emma nodded her agreement. ‘You don’t mind if I use the washbasin, right?’

She glanced in the direction of the furniture, merely just directing her eyes towards it. Regina seemed taken aback by the question and she turned around in her speechless stupor. When she returned her attention to the monster hunter, she opened and closed her mouth in search of an answer.

Emma watched her struggle in amusement, a blank expression on her pale features that only seemed to encourage Regina’s inability to talk. Years back, Emma would have laughed or even smiled at the sight; a smirk would have been inevitable. Regina would have scowled in anger and tried in vein to sever had head from her shoulders with one clean bite. Now, the sorceress never could tell what was going through her mind. She always kept a strong lid on her magical power and ensured her emotions never got the best of her.

‘No,’ Regina grounded out, frustrated with herself that she had taken such a long time to get the single word out. ‘I don’t mind at all. Just so long as you’re not a prude. We’re both women, after all.’

The blonde cracked a small, brief smile before she cleared her throat expectantly. She waited for a moment, staring down at Regina and waiting for her to move out of the small space they stood in.

‘What?’ Regina scoffed, narrowing her eyes.

‘Despite what you think about witchers, Regina,’ Emma drawled her voice laced thick with sarcasm. ‘We do have some sense of what to do and what not to do during social interaction. As much as I want to throw you over my shoulder and toss you onto the bed, I know that I shouldn’t.’

‘I _beg_ your pardon?’

Emma leaned forward, coming nose to nose with the sorceress. She grasped onto the woman’s wrist and kept her in place when she tried to yank herself away.

‘You’re in my way,’ the blonde explained. ‘I can’t move around you.’

Regina glanced down, discovering this statement to be true. The space between the bed and the back wall of the built-in bookcase barely even held Emma’s taller and more athletic form. A flush coated her cheeks and she quickly backtracked her steps to place some distance between herself and the witcher.

Emma could feel Regina’s eyes burning through her armor the moment she unclipped the swords that rested against her back. She set them both aside on the dresser next to the washbasin before she began to reach for the straps of her armor. 

After a long day of hard work, undressing herself always seemed to be more of a task than dressing herself in the morning. Despite her mutations her muscles ached from over exertion and screamed in exhaustion. If she didn’t smell like death itself then she would have happily slept in her clothing and armor that sat on her like a second skin.

She undid her ponytail, allowing her curls of golden locks to fall out of its place and pool down onto her shoulders. It, too, was covered in mud, sweat, blood and grime. She couldn’t remember the last time she had washed her hair with shampoo and conditioner, and she could wait for the time she finally would.

Emma lifted her linen shirt over her head, exposing her pale and petite breasts. Her Lion medallion untangled from the cloth as she tossed it aside on top of her armor and swords. The silver thudded softly against her chest and the chain clinked together with the lioness figurehead. She leaned forward and began to wash her face in the cold, sloshing freshwater Killian or Milah had poured for them before they had entered the quarters.

When she came up for air, water dripping down her face, her eyes caught Regina’s in the cracked mirror. The sorceress was perched against the headboard, Henry having turned around to toss her arm over his mother’s upper thighs, and she was staring directly at Emma. As soon as they had locked eyes, she glanced away and proceeded to toy nervously with Henry’s mop of brown hair.

The blonde could only assume the sorceress was a grade-a pervert, or she had been inspecting the scars that littered Emma’s muscular form. If that were the case, then she couldn’t particularly hold it against Regina. The number of scars covering Emma’s back, chest, abdomen, even the unexposed ones by the leather armored pants she wore.

Some of them weren’t even caused by monsters, of the magical kind. They were cigarette burns and whiplashes, caused by none other than abusive foster parents over the years as an adolescent. 

Fighting back then always led to bigger punishment, to more pain. Emma took it all, especially when she could keep other foster children from the same fate. More so the younger ones.

Emma looked away from the sorceress, returning to her task of cleaning blood and grime from her skin. She could watch Regina for hours, doing anything really, but she wasn’t going to make the sorceress uncomfortable. She knew all too well what it felt like to be ogled by people whom’s gaze weren’t even welcomed.

Neverland had been another hell all on its own. Not just because of the challenges and the old wounds it had managed to pick at during their time there, but because of the creatures and people on the island.

Mermaids waited in every lagoon, eager to sink their teeth into human flesh. Sirens sung their sweet melodies even more beautifully than their female fishtailed sisters and led David astray, who’s heart was only set on Mary Margaret despite their disagreements. Ghouls feasted on the lost boys' dead. Water Hags came out of every swamp they stumbled upon and had a marvelous time of pulling Emma just below the muddy surface, sending their rescue party into all kinds of panics, even if Mary Margaret trusted in her skills as a witcher.

She has faced countless monsters and she would continue to face countless more, but she knew that the island had been even a harder challenge than her transition into becoming a witcher.

Coming from her that was saying a lot. Four out of five people died during every trial of grasses. Emma was lucky to have survived that, so one could imagine what Neverland must have been like.

A hiss escaped Emma’s mouth as she dabbed the contusions littering her skin with a wet cloth. It has been days since she managed to tend to her injuries and her witcher potions could only keep infection away for so long. She couldn’t wait to return home in order to put on clothes that weren’t drenched in monster blood.

Satisfied with her current state for the time being, Emma yanked the nearby dresser open and retrieved one of Milah’s shirts. It sat a little lightly against her frame, but she couldn’t dress herself in her own article of clothing again. 

In fact, she was eager to burn her shirt given all its unidentifiable stains.

She took off her boots, exhaling in relief for the freedom of her feet. Then, she grabbed her armor and swords off the wooden surface and padded over to Regina’s side of the bed. The reason she told herself was because there was more space on the floor there then on Henry’s side of the bed.

Callously, Emma tossed her armor and swords a few paces away from her mentally marked out sleeping area. They landed loudly in the floor, the items' metal clinking against one another. She imagined Regina glaring at her from behind, angered by the noise.

She unclasped the belt around her pants and tossed it aside as well. She yawned and stretched herself before she lowered herself down onto the wooden floor, thinking back on how this didn’t even rank in her top ten of horrible places she’d slept before. Tucking her arm under her head, Emma closed her eyes.

‘Goodnight, Regina.’

Emma didn’t receive an answer. She was used to the sorceress's coldness, even more so because of her mutations. It stung even when she knew it shouldn’t. A lot of people assumed witchers had no heart and even less so a soul. She just never thought that someone like Regina could be so hypocritical.

The blonde jumped when the pillow collided with her head. She sat up instantly, her first instinct to reach for her sword. However, she stopped and allowed herself to assess the area first. Emma’s eyes connected with Regina’s backside and she frowned in confusion at the brunette’s form.

‘Goodnight, Miss Swan.’

If it wasn’t for Emma’s enhanced senses, she would have missed the whispered sentence entirely. She glanced between Regina and the pillow that now lay at her side, and for the first time in what could have been years she allowed the goofy smile to spread over her face.

She grabbed for the small piece of luxury and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

* * *

Milah seemed to tolerate Emma more than Hook did. She didn’t seem to share her lover's opinion that all witchers were vile scum of the earth. Emma often caught the woman smiling at her from somewhere on the ship, mostly just to be friendly and make her feel more welcomed than her own father did.

The pirate queen, however, left well enough alone. She respected Emma’s need to distance herself from the group, often not sharing meals with them during their long and treacherous course on Neverland’s seemingly endless ocean. She also annoyed Emma far less than Hook did.

This was what Emma thought of as she drew her eyes away from Milah, feeling Henry pat her cheek lightly. He was seated on her shoulders, his legs dangling past her breasts and proceeding to kick her in the gut every so often. She stood by the wooden rail of the ship, her knees just touching the edge so that she could feel the rush of danger tugging on her stomach.

Storybrooke was still a good journey ahead of them, several hundred miles to be exact before they could use such things as pixie dust or whatever idea Hook had up his sleeve to place a whole realm between them and the blasted rock called Neverland.

‘I didn’t know there were dolphins here!’ Henry exclaimed, pointing to where he’d spotted the sea creature.

Emma cracked a small smile at his enthusiasm, pleasantly surprised when she spotted the mammal for herself. Just shy off the starboard of the Jolly Roger there swan an entire pod of the sea creatures.

It should trouble Emma that she knew so little of the area she had been all but dropped into. As a witcher, lack of facts or information could cost one one’s life. Emma had nearly met her maker more than a few times during their journey on the island. Though, she couldn’t care less about that place. All Emma cared about was going home with Henry and figuring out how her life as a witcher could fit into his.

‘I didn’t know either,’ Emma mused fondly, glancing up to Henry’s grinning face. 

The scar traveling across the left side of her face, going directly over her eye and having nearly blinded Emma in the organ, twitched when Henry’s hand grazed it lightly. He pulled back in surprise, glancing down to check if she was alright, yet at the same time inspecting it with childlike curiosity as best he could from his position.

She allowed him to trace the old injury with his fingers. Henry was purposely being gentle with her, as though he thought it could somehow still cause her pain. Emma could tell that he admired the scar, the cogs of his mine turning in effort to understand how she could have obtained it.

‘A souvenir from a cockatrice,’ Emma informed humorlessly. Though, she chuckled when Henry tilted his head to the side in curious confusion.

‘What’s that?’ He asked. ‘It makes me think of a cockroach.’

Emma’s chuckled grew louder, more audible and pleasing to the ear.

‘Trust me, it’s anything but that,’ she scratched the scar, feeling it itch as she thought back to when the reptile had caught her by surprise. ‘It’s like a dragon, but smaller and less intelligent; four-limbs, wings.’

Henry leaned his weight against her, and Emma turned her gaze back to the horizon. He rested his chin against the top of her head and she instantly feel the small amount of tension he had held in his body disappear.

‘Do they breathe fire like a normal dragon?’

Emma grunted, thankful there was one less thing she needed to concern herself with the next time she came face to face with a cockatrice.

‘No,’ she answered. ‘They use toxins and they strike with their beaks and tails. They surprise their victims, and with me that had been the case.’

‘The "cock" part of the word makes me think of a chicken,’ Henry hummed. ‘Do they look like chickens?’

Emma snorted, ‘Yeah. A little bit.’

‘Did it hurt when the cock-a-trice gave you the scar?’ He annunciated each part of the word, careful not to mispronounce it or to leave any syllables out. ‘It looks like it did.’

Did it hurt; he asked.

Cockatrice’s were non-intelligent, but they were dangerous. Their blows were so precise that they went for any exposed skin available to them. Their wing and tails struck for vital organs and left their victims bleeding before they sunk their venom in.

Of all the beast Emma’s come across, they were the most frustrating. The last cockatrice she had faced had lasted all of five hours against her silver sword and oils.

‘Yes, it did,’ Emma answered honestly. ‘My mom—Mary Margaret, I mean—she had been so mad when I came back to camp looking, I’d fallen down a hillside face first. She patched me up and forced me not to take another job until a week later.’

‘Well, it looks pretty cool,’ Henry complimented. ‘You look like a badass.’

‘Language,’ Emma warned gently. ‘If your mom hears you talking like that, she’ll run me through with my own damn sword.’

‘Now who has to watch their language?’

_Cocky bastard._

‘Do you think I could become a witcher some day?’ Henry questioned innocently.

Emma clenched her jaw and slightly tightened her grip on Henry’s upper thighs. Entertaining his ideas of becoming a knight was one thing, but Emma would saw off her own arm before she allowed her precious boy to go through what she had to become what she now was. Emma would also never subject Henry to the constant hate she dealt with that came along with being a mutant.

A lot of people hated her kind. Emma’s been spat on, belittled and insulted in every sense of the world. Some often forgot who kept monsters at bay from their villages, towns and cities.

The blonde might not have a heart of gold, but was it too much to ask for a small amount of respect?

‘You wouldn’t want to become like me,’ Emma answered.

‘Why?’

A sigh escaped Emma, wondering how she was going to get through to the boy. ‘You remember when Mary Margaret and I first came back? When David wouldn’t even talk to me the first week?’

Henry’s chin moved on top of her head and Emma assumed it must have been a nod. He remained silent, however, hanging on to every word the witcher said as though she held all of the answers in the universe.

‘Well, that’s because he...’ she paused, uncertain how to phrase it. ‘He had a strong disliking of witchers. People who are different... scares David. As they do everyone else. David only accepts me because I’m his daughter.’

‘That’s stupid,’ Henry mumbled, his brows knitting together in a frown. ‘He shouldn’t feel like that.’

‘Yeah, well he does,’ Emma insisted. ‘Witchers go through a lot during our transformations and sometimes it can make them seem uncaring in the way they do things. It makes them seem... heartless.’

The brunet didn’t reply to that. Emma could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind and smell the smoke coming out of his ears.

He surely must have noticed her change in demeanor and the way she behaved at times. Emma often was different from the old bail bondswoman that used to care for no one other than herself. She had brutish temper when her limits were tested, and she smiled a lot less at times. She was still her goofy self, often, but very few knew what went on inside her head.

‘So, people are afraid of you because of what you can do?’

Henry was definitely Regina’s kid.

‘Um, yeah,’ Emma confirmed. ‘I guess they are.’

The brunette lifted his chin off Emma and began to carry some of his own weight. Emma wasn’t certain what was going through his head, but she could he understood things a little better on some level.

If Emma could help raise this little boy to have courage and be kind in their hateful world, then she had at least done something right with her miserable life.

‘I’m not scared of you,’ Henry promised. ‘You’re still my mom, Emma.’

Emma beamed, looking up at her son.

‘Can I go and hang out with Hook and my grandma?’ He asked. ‘I still want to learn a little more about sailing.’

The witcher didn’t answer, merely lifted Henry off her shoulder and watched as he barreled away to where the man in question stood with Milah behind the helm. Up until that point they had been leaning against one another and whispered sweet nothings into each other’s ears, but as soon as Henry’s footsteps hammered on the stairs, Milah turned to face her grandson.

She laughed as she caught Henry in her arms, easily lifting him off the deck with a smile that even infected Emma. Milah looked towards her and offered a wave in greeting. Knowing she wasn’t expected to wave, Emma angled herself away from the sight and leaned against the side of the ship.

Just as she had begun to relax, she felt something collide with the back of her head along with the usual word Mutant! tossed her way. Emma rubbed the back of her head, accidentally tangling her gloved hands into her ponytail. She glanced down at the item that had fallen to the floor with a thunk before she lifted the apple. She glanced to where some of the lost boys were swabbing the deck, per Killian’s orders. 

It wasn’t unusual for them to express their biased hatred for her in such a way. After all, she’d killed their leader and dragged them away from the only life they’d known for years. Pan feeding then tales of how terrible witchers were didn’t help the case either.

Instead of glaring at them or scolding them, Emma took a bite from the fruit and returned to what she had been doing before they had so rudely interrupted her.

She heard Regina approaching her from her right, distinctive by the way she walked and the sass that dripped off her feminine form. Emma didn’t pay her much attention, dividing her focus between the ocean, the sky and the horizon as she munched on the apple she’d scored.

‘I’m mildly impressed by your sense of self-controlled,’ Regina informed, hoisting herself onto the edge of the boat and taking a seat. She tempted fate as her feet dangled in the air, an amused smirk gracing her lips as she stared down at Emma. ‘Had it been me I would have either burned them alive or tossed them overboard.’

‘Their just kids,’ Emma murmured into her apple. ‘Orphans. I used to be like them. I know exactly what’s going on in their mind. I loved testing authoritative figures, especially when they we’re the strongest or the toughest ones around.’

‘You’re no match for Gold, Miss Swan,’ Regina scoffed, rolling her eyes skyward.

Emma leisurely turned her head towards the sorceress, taking a bite out of the treat in her hand as though it said enough.

‘Well, then, you’re no match against me.’

She smirked, swallowing her bite and then looking back into the horizon as she wondered just how far it truly stretched.

‘Not gonna argue with that,’ Emma answered, leaving whatever lingering questions still remained unanswered. ‘Care to tell me why her majesty has graced me with her presence? I thought she couldn’t stand me.’

‘I can stand your company far more than either your mother or your father’s,’ the sorceress sniped back. ‘And I found that I could listen to your ex utter one more word or else I would have made him combust spontaneously. His voice irritates me, especially when he thinks I know nothing of navigation.’

Emma hummed audibly. 

She remembered something about her mother telling her Neal was going to teach them how navigation in Neverland work, in case they should ever have to return to the gods forsaken spit of land, no matter how unlikely. The blonde herself knew she should have most likely gone and listened to what Neal had to say, but there were several reasons why it would have been a terrible idea.

The only good one being she hated his guts.

‘I’m surprised you haven’t punched him in the face,’ the witcher informed.

The scar on Regina’s lip twitched. ‘Well, it’s not because of my lack of trying.’

Emma nodded, tossing the apple stork over the side of the ship and watching as it landed in the water with a splash. Her gaze followed the spot where it disappeared until she could no longer see it before she turned to look back up at Regina.

‘You don’t like him,’ she pointed out. Not a question, merely her stating a fact.

‘What gave it away? The insults or the way my face contorts with disgust every time he opens his white male entitled mouth?’

Emma chuckled, a deep and genuine sound. ‘Both,’ she informed. ‘I just don’t understand why. Being Henry’s father certainly fuels it, and him being... well, _Neal_ definitely doesn’t help his case, but it isn’t the root of it.’

Regina rose a skeptical eyebrow, ‘And since when do you care about why I despise someone?’

The blonde couldn’t help but think, even as Regina was questioning her intentions and motive, she was beautiful; stunning. Witchers often broke beautiful things, so Emma forced her eyes back down at the ocean waters.

She shrugged nonchalantly, not truly knowing the answer herself. The reason she told herself was because she was curious, but she knew it to be a boldfaced lie. 

‘I’m just wondering,’ Emma answered vaguely. ‘I know why _I_ hate his guts, but he hasn’t done anything to intentionally annoy you nor did he do anything even remotely damaging to Henry. He’s surprisingly been an okay influence on the kid.’

‘He’s a liar and a thief, Miss Swan,’ Regina deadpanned, her voice filled with an undertone of fury. ‘I do not trust him, nor do I trust him with our son. He is the type of person you warn your children to steer clear of.’

She wasn’t wrong. Neal was anything but parent material. Emma tolerated him because she had lied to Henry about his existence. In truth, she was just waiting for him to shatter everything she and Regina had worked so hard to build, and then just pick up the pieces from there.

Though, Emma wasn’t so sure if she herself should be allowed to be Henry’s parent anymore. She, at times, didn’t trust herself around Henry. Trouble always followed wherever she seemed to go and the last person she wanted to get caught in the crossfire was her son.

‘Henry’s a good kid,’ Emma said instead of what she wanted to say. ‘He knows the difference between right and wrong. When Neal does turn out to be the douchebag, we know he is, we will be there to pick up the pieces.’

Regina remained silent for a moment, her mind trying to determine if the answer was acceptable or not, or if there was any need for her to tell Emma she was downright an idiot. Then, she simply nodded her head curtly.

‘How... _level-headed_ of you, Miss Swan,’ the sorceress mused. ‘You have come quite a way, haven’t you?’

‘_Fearing no manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths_,’ Emma recited with a shrug. ‘Can’t really let yourself hesitate, now, can you? You hesitate in front of a ghoul they’ll severe your jugular and you’ll die.’

‘I suppose not,’ Regina said evenly.

She turned her head slightly into the distance where Emma continued to stare and fell into pleasant silence with the witcher. For once, the other’s company didn’t seem so sour as it did long before.

* * *

Emma flew up out of her plane of peaceful slumber and gasped at the cold water dripping down her figure, soaking her blanket and pillow. The sound of her discomfort waking Henry and Regina from their own state of rest.

The witcher looked up to where two lost boys stood, grinning like they had just found where the leprechaun kept his pot of gold. In their hands they held a bucket, tipped over in the blonde’s direction.

Lost boys were well known for their habitual pranks and their foul manners. Disney’s portrayal of them might not be all too accurate, but it had given Emma a background on what she could have been expecting from the abominations.

Then again, that didn’t stop her from losing her temper.

A furious growl escaped the witcher and the smile on the lost boys' faces fell away instantly. They dropped the bucket and scrambled for the exit where they would no doubt seek refuge from one of the other’s above the deck.

Emma tossed her wet blanket aside and flew up onto her own feet with practiced precision. Not even thinking to grab her sword, she barreled towards the cabin doors, running into some of the posts or tripping over their things around the room in her fury induced haze. She ignored Regina’s calls and rammed through the exit, her feet nearly splitting the stairs leading up to the deck in half.

Outside, she tripped over the last few steps and nearly toppled over onto the deck. Easily regaining her balance, the blonde’s head swerved around in search of the miscreants who’d interrupted her peaceful night. Emma spotted them just a few paces ahead of her, running towards a surprised David. 

The blond dropped basin he had been carrying as his hands flew to protect the cowering boys behind him.

Damning the consequences, Emma put on a burst of speed that could rival a panther’s. The two kids behind her father dove completely out of sight. David stepped in front of the blonde, blocking her from the two mischievous rascals. She shoved against the man’s chest, catching a glimpse of the two cowering boys.

‘Emma!’ David shouted, his head whipping between his daughter and Regina running towards them with Henry in tow. ‘Emma, what is going on?!’

‘Those little shits doused me with a bucket of water!’ Emma exclaimed, flailing her arms in exasperation. ‘I’m going to dangle them over the side of ship and then decide if I’m going to drop them.’

Her father glanced back at the children clutching to his pants, tightening his grasp on Emma’s shoulders. 

‘Go!’ He yelled. ‘Go to bed now!’

The two of them didn’t bother to be told twice. They ran as though a pack of wolves snapped their jaws at their heels. Emma moved to push past David, but he struggled against her with all his strength.

‘Let go of me! I’m going to drown those bastards if it’s the last thing I do!’

‘Emma!’ Regina exclaimed, grabbing ahold of the witcher’s shoulder. ‘Calm down! It’s just a bit of water!’

Emma stopped dead in her tracks. It was as though she’d been doused from in the freezing bucket of water all over again. She spun around to narrow her cat-like eyes at the sorceress, clenching and unclenching her fists to resist the urge to strangle her.

And Niagara Falls was just a puddle.

Sleep was the one thing that hadn’t changed in the past ten years. It was the one thing where people didn’t stare at her like she had just eaten their children. Now the lost boys had taken one of the only things left that brought her solace. She was going to drown those ignorant, ungrateful brats before they arrived in Storybrooke.

‘Just a bit of water?’ Emma repeated. ‘I’m soaked down to the bone, my pillow and blankets have just experienced what everyone else in the world who had not been let onto Noah’s arc must have felt like, I’m not going to get back to sleep because of them and you’re telling me to calm down. If you were in my position, they wouldn’t even have had the chance to run to David!’

‘You’re right,’ the sorceress agreed, her hands coming up to rest above Emma’s breasts, placing some distance between them. ‘I would have incinerated them instantly, but I’m not you and you’re not me, and you’re not going to hurt those boys.’

Emma growled, opening her mouth to argue, but she snapped it shut just as quickly when Regina gave her a look of warning.

She might be a witcher; unafraid of monsters and other vile creatures, but she knew better than to challenge Regina’s authority or to disrespect her. 

At least, she did so now.

‘You are going to take our son, and you are going to put him back to bed,’ Regina ordered. ‘And I will deal with this situation. Am I understood?’

The blonde glanced to where Henry had now maneuvered himself flush against his mother. He was peaking out from behind her petite form, clutching tightly onto her silk blouse. The brunet stared up at her with wide eyes, but he didn’t seem to be afraid of her or what had just happened. Emma suspected if she were scared awake like he had just been she would look like that, too.

She clenched her jaw as she stared down at Henry. This was always exactly why she needed to be in control of her emotions. 

Back in the Enchanted Forest, noblemen and -women were a different story. She could be an immoral brute and the consequences would merely be a bounty on her head. If she ever scared, or hurt Henry, she would never be able to forgive herself.

‘I said,’ Regina annunciated, drawing Emma’s attention back to her russet eyes. ‘Am I understood?’

Emma huffed out a breath, releasing the remaining tension into it before she bent down and lifted Henry onto her hip. He was by no means a toddler anymore, but he didn’t seem to complain about being picked up like a sack of potatoes. Henry even seemed to enjoy sharing this special thing with Emma.

Regina turned to David as mother and son stalked away. She placed her hands on her hips menacingly. He opened his mouth to speak, but she was quick to interrupt him.

‘Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t want to hear it,’ she hissed. ‘Just know, if any one of those lost boys try something as idiotic as this they won’t have to worry about Emma.’

David sighed, scratching the back of his neck ashamedly. ‘We’ll keep a better eye on them.’

‘See to it that you do.’ The sorceress sent the man one last glare before she turned on her heels to follow Emma and Henry.

The prince looked up to where Mary Margaret stood one the upper deck, arms crossed over her chest. He could see the look of concern from where he stood, and he knew her mind must be racing with thoughts.

It killed David to know there was ten years separating them; heart, body, mind and soul, but the one thing that brought him comfort was the fact that he still knew how to read her like a book.

He often barreled into things with brute force and a temper, but he knew that sometimes what was needed was a delicate touch. Her delicate touch.

* * *

Emma looked up from the blade she was cleaning; polishing the sword to the point where she could see her reflection staring back.

She had been alone for almost an hour now. Henry and Regina had gone down to the dining hall for breakfast whilst she had opted to remain alone in the quarters seated by Killian’s enormously overcompensating desk.

A witcher in a foul mood wasn’t someone one would want to be around. Everyone knew it was better if she was allowed just a small amount of time for herself to prevent catastrophic incidents, mainly involving her swords. However, there was only one person either foolish enough to disturb her or brave enough to.

Her mother.

Emma was always on guard. A witcher needed to be vigilant or they could end up getting themselves killed. 

Hence why there was one nasty scar across her left eye. That was precisely what happened when she managed to be caught off guard.

‘I told Regina I wanted to be left alone.’

She could practically see Mary Margaret shifting nervously from one foot to the other, mostly because she could hear it. Despite practically knowing the woman for practically eleven years, little had changed in that time. She was still the same meek, entitled princess she had always been.

The only difference was, Emma understood her now.

Emma knew that Mary Margaret wasn’t going to take a no for an answer even if she tattooed it on her forehead. The only way she was going to get out of this and remain sane is if she listened to whatever rested on her mother’s heart.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to let her win so easily.

The blonde angled her body towards the woman and turned her head the rest of the way. She could scoff at the way the pixie haired woman tried her best to appear nonchalant, sticking her hands into the back of her pockets in a vain effort to keep herself from breaking out into a sprint and gathering Emma into her arms.

‘You’re killing me here, ma,’ Emma groaned in annoyance. ‘I can’t with all the emotions right now. It’s too much.’

Mary Margaret stepped forward, ignoring her daughter’s warnings. ‘David told me what happened.’

The witcher turned back towards her the sword lain out on the table and returned to the task she’d been occupied with before hand.

‘Yeah, well, I’m fine,’ she assured, her voice more forced than she had intended it to be. ‘As you can see, I’m very busy. I gotta get these swords cleaned and then I have some meditation I’d like to catch up on. I don’t have time to be coddled.’

The wooden planks creaked under Mary Margaret’s feet as she walked, and Emma rolled her eyes towards the ceiling as a result. She turned her head to see the pixie haired woman beginning to kneel next to her on the floor, grabbing onto her bicep.

‘I think a few minutes just opened up in your schedule.’ Mary Margaret emphasized the word in a singsong like voice. She smiled brightly at Emma, and the blonde wondered if it were to broaden even more would it actually managed to blind her. ‘So, you have just enough time to tell me what’s been bothering you for the last few months we’ve been home.’

Emma growled. 

If any enemy had been able to read, her that easily then she would have been long since deceased.

‘I hate it when you do that,’ she reminded monotonously. ‘Especially when it’s something I don’t want to talk about.’

‘I recall, yes. I also know that talking is going to make you feel better,’ Mary Margaret reminded gently, moving her hand to Emma’s. ‘You’re not talking to anyone, Emma. You need to let these things out.’

‘I talk to Ruby.’

‘The two of you wouldn’t know how to even begin a meaningful conversation,’ Mary Margaret scoffed. ‘All you two ever do is drink and make comments about some girl's ass.’

Emma rolled her eyes but knew she couldn’t disagree. In fact, she felt personally attacked for her perfectly healthy coping mechanisms.

‘It’s harder than I expected it to be,’ she finally muttered, her eyes trained downwards in refusal to meet Mary Margaret’s eyes. ‘I thought I could handle it; David’s cold shoulder, the way everyone keeps staring at me like I’m going to eat a baby...’

‘But...’ prompted Mary Margaret, her hand squeezing Emma’s bicep.

‘I just want everything to go back to normal.’

She wanted to forget the past ten years of her life; forget everything that she has been through. The feeling of being singled out by those who had placed her high on a pedestal was devastating. In the Enchanted Forest it had been easy to endure. Now, however, it felt like she was constantly drowning in shame, incapable of living up to the expectations which so many had placed upon her shoulders.

Mary Margaret reached up to stroke Emma’s cheek, moving some of the few strays of hair out of her face. Like always, she was smiling reassuring, her positivity having somehow managed to stay intact over the past few years. The adoration in her green orbs made Emma’s heart ache and swell at the same time.

‘I think we both wished that things could return to what the had once been,’ she said, a sad smile now gracing her soft lips. ‘Though I think we both know that to be impossible. We’re here now and I think it best if we try to move forward, ignore what everyone else thinks.’

Ten years ago, Emma was certain that the woman would never have thought of such a sentence, let alone said it aloud. It made the reality of what different people they’ve become so much more surreal.

‘How do we do that?’ Emma grunted, her jaw clenching to work out the turmoil raging inside her.

Mary Margaret reached for Emma’s bare hand, lifting it to her mouth and peppering it with loving kisses.

‘Baby steps, I suppose,’ she murmured against Emma’s knuckles. ‘Baby steps.’


	2. The Case of the Missing Clothes

_A few months later..._

* * *

An open window, glass shards all over the floor and the muddy boot prints was Emma’s first indication that something was amiss. She was certain she hadn’t left a small, fist-size whole in the top window of Regina’s guest bedroom—_her _bedroom—and she was certain she had warned the dwarves what would happen if they were to make the same err in judgement.

The second indication was that all her clothing was missing, including her boots, armor... _and _the bag of gold she had been stashing away for a rainy day. The only things left behind was a small sticky note with one simple phrase scribbled down:

_Haha! Freak!_

The towel wrapped around Emma’s waist was the only covering her lower half, her curly tress of blonde hair wet from the shower she had taken. Everything had been in place a moment earlier, before she had stepped into the bathroom. 

How didn’t she hear the glass breaking? Her senses were dialed up far greater than the average human’s, so how did she not hear the stomping of foots even with the sound of rushing water in her ears.

Emma glared at the note in her grasp then began to crumple it until it was nothing but a flimsy paper ball. Over time she had managed to get used to the Lost Boy’s presence. They were the town’s orphans. Miscreants. Utter heathens at times, but Emma knew that they just needed a small amount of love and they would be modeled citizens of their humble, fairytale town, and for the most part they had been.

Until now it seemed. 

Emma understood them. At one point in time she had _been _them. Pranks like these were what she had lived for during her time in foster care, but now that she was the sod in the situation it wasn’t so enjoyable. It made her angry more than anything, and it made it difficult not just to resort to strangulation.

Their scent practically made it unbearable to breath in the room; deodorant and wherever they had been mixing quite nicely together. It made Emma want to gag, nearly making her regret her enhanced senses for a moment. 

The lion-figurehead trembled above her breastbone, alerting her of the presence of magic. She knelt next to the window, mindful of the broken glass. Her nimble fingers trailed across the floor before she lifted them into view, traces of pixie dust coating her fingers. She brought her hands up, sniffing at the substance before wiping her hand on the towel.

It was definitely the Lost Boys. They must have "borrowed" some of the pixie dust from the unsuspecting members of the convent they were staying in. This meant Emma was going to be forced to have another conversation about keeping a better eye on what small amount of magic the fae now possessed.

‘Regina!’ 

She would get an earful from the brunette, but she would gladly accept it today. Two heads placed together were far better than one. While Emma was somewhat of an expert in the magical arts, she still didn’t hold a candle to Regina. She was certain she never would.

It wasn’t long before the sound of clicking heels filled Emma’s ears, then the bedroom door bursting open. Regina’s bedroom was just down the hall, far closer than the brunette liked it to be, but Emma didn’t much care for her grievances on the living arrangement. The sorceress had been the one who proposed it.

‘Miss Swan, I don’t appreciate being summoned like—’

The Mayor of Storybrooke didn’t get to finish her sentence.

Emma was faintly aware of the door clicking shut as she rose, staring intently at the sorceress. She gripped the knot of her towel, redundantly securing it a little tighter. A frown knitted her brows together, currently unsure what to make of the look on Regina’s features.

The murderous gleam in her eyes was replaced by one of utter shock, all the color of her skin having been drained instantaneously save for the pink tinge on her cheeks.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

She could tell it wasn’t nothing. Regina was pointedly staring directly into Emma’s eyes, her cheeks flushing even more now that Emma had asked.

The witcher waved it away, returning to the topic at hand. She turned towards the crime scene, placing her hands onto her hips.

‘Someone broke in.’

Regina’s eyes flew to the spot where Emma was staring, seeing the state of the guest room was in. She stepped forward, deliberately not looking at Emma as she bent down to inspect the evidence left behind.

Emma watched the woman investigate the traces of pixie dust, her medallion trembling as Regina’s magic swirled through the room. The sorceress suddenly tensed, as if realizing. She looked up sharply at Emma.

‘Henry!’

‘He’s fine,’ Emma was quick to reassure, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘I just talked to him over our walkie-talkies. He’s checking if anything else is missing.’

‘_Anything else?_’

Emma bit the inside of her cheek. Then relented, ‘The little weasels stole all of my clothing; my armor, my shirts, my trousers. Even my gods-damned boots.’

‘You mean to tell me you don’t have _any _clothing?’

‘There’s nothing in my dresser. Nada. All I have is one left sock that I thought had been stolen by a hobgoblin.’

Regina rose to her feet, only continuing to pale. She cleared her throat awkwardly, keeping her eyes firmly placed on Emma’s face. The witcher couldn’t help but wonder what had gotten into the woman that morning.

‘Did you see anyone in the garden, or hear anything?’ Emma questioned, staring out the window to the porch’s roof. ‘Bastards couldn’t have been _that _careful.’

‘No, I didn’t see or hear anything,’ she says stiffly. ‘Didn’t you?’

Emma shook her head. ‘As contradicting as it may be, I didn’t hear _anything_. They must have managed to conceal their movements with the pixie dust. It’s all my medallion is picking up, too.’

‘That bauble of yours is nothing but a cheap parlor trick,’ Regina sniped, leveling Emma with a cold look. ‘It’s most likely picking up on my magic as well.’

The witcher allowed the insult to wash over her, not about to begin a needless argument with the woman so early in the morning. She’s barely even dressed let alone filled herself with warm food. She hadn’t yet the energy to put up with the brunette.

‘I’m gonna head out earlier, head to the convent and talk with Latchboy. He’s less of a delinquent than the others.’

They also had an understanding with one another. He sometimes snuck into the house, Emma gave him two boxes of pop tarts and he returned the valiant hero. In exchange, he often let Emma in on the ongoings of the Lost Boys and if their leader, Thud Butt, was planning anything stupid. And Regina and the other Lost Boys were none the wiser.

‘Yes, well, you might want to put on some clothes before you do,’ she suggested in a dry tone, glancing back down to the mess she will most likely have to clean. 

Emma glanced down at herself.

‘..._Oh_.’

‘You honestly hadn’t noticed? Didn’t you even feel a small draft?’ Regina asked her in disbelief.

The witcher shrugged her shoulders. It wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed, per say, it was because she didn’t think it was a problem. 

During her trials to become a witcher, social interactions, formalities and such things as _nakedness _was lost on her. There were few luxuries or inquiries whether she was comfortable with certain situations. Emma had learned to numb the experiences and preferences of her own world, thinking she would never have seen it again.

Of course, she wasn’t this careless when Henry was around, in tuned with the boys needs and necessities.

‘I was serious when I said I don’t have _any _clothing. They took every article; bled me dry.’

‘And the clothes you wore last night?’

‘I left them on the bedroom floor before I stepped out of the room. I couldn’t wear them anyways—still covered in mud, a bit of monster guts, too. Yesterday was a little busy.’

Regina’s eyes lit up in amusement, the thought _How could I forget _flashing above her head. She had been pleasantly amused by the sound of gremlins attacking Happy’s convenient store over the phone’s speaker.

‘Well, I hope you’re not looking to me for a solution. My clothes won’t fit...’ she trailed off, trying to motion towards Emma, but instantly realizing her mistake. She swallowed thickly, nailing her eyes to the wall behind the blonde. ‘I don’t think anything of mine will fit you.’

‘Yeah, I might have grown an inch or two during the mutations,’ she supplied vaguely, unable to help the smug smirk that finally made its way onto her lips. ‘I’ll call Mom. David will have some boxers I could wear and there’s bound to be _something _of mine back at the loft.’

‘Very well,’ agreed Regina, before turning on her heels and making a hasty exit.

Emma shook her head in amusement. She glanced back down at herself, unable to lose her self-satisfaction that continued to spread across her face.

Now she knew why Regina had been so... _frazzled_.

* * *

Regina certainly wasn’t a prude, she had some self-respect, but Emma Swan was a constant sustaining of punishment. The sorceress would rather die than admit that the blonde’s upper torso was now seared into her mind, her long red nails aching to trace across the washboard of a— 

No.

She had self-control _and _self-respect. Even if she longed for a cold... freezing, ice cold shower that would make her teeth clatter during the dead of fall.

The sorceress desperately tried to focus her attention on the bestiaries spread out in front of her; volumes containing information on the different magical creatures that seemed to enjoy _popping up _around _her _town. But it was a failed cause from start to finish. 

She was too enraptured by whatever Emma and Mary Margaret were discussing upstairs, the latter having arrived over half an hour ago. 

Normally the woman’s presence annoyed Regina, but she seemed different ever since her return from the Enchanted Forest. Just like Emma, much had changed about the woman. She was still annoyingly hopeful, righteous and infuriatingly kind, but she appeared to be tempered, somehow wiser and appeared to have experienced more hardship.

This was evidently seen in the stripes of grey in her once raven hair and the wrinkles that had begun to form around her eyes and mouth.

Emma lacked such changes. Like sorceresses, witchers were blessed with longevity. In the old world, Regina knew of witchers who had turned two centuries old and they happened to still look like middle aged men.

Regina was curious what Emma and her mother could be discussing about the latest development. When they had shared not-so unpleasant greetings, Mary Margaret gave no indication that she was there for anything other than to deliver Emma some clothing. She had smiled, told Regina it was good to see her, then followed her directions to Emma’s bedroom.

Being left in the dark was infuriating.

‘Mom?’

‘Hm?’

‘If you stare any harder into that page, I’m pretty sure it _will _spontaneously combust. Even _without _using your magic.’

Regina looked up sharply, as if realizing for the first time she was still seated in Henry’s company, waiting for him to finish his cereal before he prepared to leave with Mary Margaret. 

Ever since he had stayed with David during the time Emma and Mary Margaret had been absent, he had begun to learn how to use a sword. Wooden, albeit, but it was training, nonetheless. Every Saturday morning, he and David would train together in the park. As of late, Mary Margaret had been joining in on this bonding time.

Emma refused to participate. Henry and Regina had tried to push her on the subject on several occasions, but the only result of this was her spending at least a week out of the house. She had split her time between the station and the grievances of townsfolk thinking they had seen something lurking outside their houses or in them.

‘Is something wrong?’ Henry finally pressed, raising a concerned eyebrow. ‘Is it Ma?’

‘Nothings the matter. I guess I’m just a little preoccupied.’

She offered him a genuine smile, reveling in his concern for her wellbeing.

Things had been trying between them. It’s gotten better after safely returning Emma and Mary Margaret, albeit ten years late in retrospect, and their interactions with each other had improved after Neverland, but in comparison between him and Emma she couldn’t even hold a candle.

Regina was envious of how easily Henry offered affection towards Emma. It ached to know he could so readily accept her after all she had likely done in her life as a monster hunter. It ached to know he could love her unconditionally when she looked like—

She glanced down ashamedly. Thinking so cruelly of Emma... It was wrong. The woman had shown her nothing but kindness since her return from the Enchanted Forest. Her and Mary Margaret’s outlook on things had changed immensely and they had not uttered a single word of cruelty against her nor have they spouted any false accusations.

She would not stoop to such horrid thoughts of the women who were the reason she was even allowed to have a second chance with her son.

‘I’m just worried, I suppose.’ She admitted it more to herself than to the curious boy in front of her. ‘These magical creatures... Most of them I have never been acquainted with. I’ve heard of them, read of them, but never have I seen them in the flesh. Your mother... She knows far more than I could ever know about these things and how to handle them.’

‘Your worried you won’t be much help in a fight?’

‘I _haven’t _been much help. Emma’s been able to eliminate all of these threats on her own.’

‘Ma said it’s her job. That I shouldn’t worry too much about it.’ Henry shrugged innocently.

Regina can tell that he’s had this conversation with Emma before. He had been frightened about this new line of work she had taken on. Her heart ached in knowing that he had sought comfort from the witcher instead of her, but at the same time she was thankful. She wouldn’t have known what to say if Henry had come to her in regards of this matter.

It wasn’t that the sorceress didn’t trust in Emma’s abilities as a witchwoman. She was far more capable than most would assume at first glance, and she was quite skilled. She had proved this during their time in Neverland, managing to prove that she could navigate through Neverland even without Hook’s incessant hammer about how they wouldn’t survive an hour without him. However, what Regina feared was the day that Emma’s skill failed her. No witcher had ever died peacefully in their own bed. Henry would be devastated, and Regina would somehow, someway be blamed.

‘I suppose your right,’ Regina finally muttered. ‘It _is _her job and she seems to be quite exceptional.’

‘Yeah.’ Henry grinned proudly.

The sorceress forced herself to look back down at the bestiary in her grasp, though she made little attention to the written word. She was more drawn to the notes written in what she hoped to be red ink; Emma’s own handwriting.

The witcher had scribbled down small things she thought significant to some creatures, such as quirks or weaknesses she had discovered. It helped immensely to know that some creatures were more deadly than they appeared some, who appeared frightening in nature, was more harmless than a fly.

That was another thing about Emma that had changed. She had a better understanding of magic, her intelligence in that regard not as dull as it had once been. Her understanding of it and magical creatures baffled Regina. She wouldn’t dare admit this aloud, lest she wanted Emma’s ego to swell up even more than it had that morning.

Emma’s smug grin accompanied with muscles that could literally crack a walnut was most mouthwa—

_No_. Those train of thoughts were unwelcome.

The sorceress shut the bestiary hurriedly, trying to pretend that there wasn’t a blush creeping up her neck. 

Gods, what was _wrong _with her? One glance at Emma’s breasts and abs, and she was blushing like a schoolgirl who’s never even been kissed before.

The thud of the book must have caused Henry to jump in fright, because now he was looking up at her with wide concerned eyes. She only noticed when he spoke, drawing her from her embarrassing thoughts.

‘Mom, you’re turning red! Do you feel sick?’

‘No, no,’ she could only feel herself heating up at being caught. If only Henry knew what she had been thinking about. ‘I’m fine, really. Just remind me never to allow you to read any of these books until you’re thirty.’

Deflection, but it worked marvelously.

‘Oh, okay.’

She needed to desperately get herself under control. A little amount of attraction between herself and Emma wouldn’t end well.

* * *

Emma groused as she slipped an old pair of red leather trousers. It fit her like a glove but would do little in regard of protection as well as the shirt she had slipped over her head. She was exposed far more than a bare babe and any creature with claws for hands would be able to gut her from the naval to the breastbone.

She spared a glance in Mary Margaret’s direction as the woman sifted through the hole in the back of her closet as she tightened her belt around her waist. 

The woman was inspecting to see if anything else important happened to be missing. Unlike Regina, the witcher didn’t possess a vault to hide her potions, runestones and various other potentially dangerous objects. All Emma had was the fake wall, and she protected it like she would her son. The runes that had been placed over it should have been impenetrable.

‘It seems like everything’s accounted for, but I do suggest you find a better hiding place for these things,’ said Mary Margaret, stepping out of the closet. ‘Perhaps we would avoid such a scare if this were to happen again.’

‘That would be a cold day in hell if the thieves were bold enough to come back a second time around,’ the blonde murmured, dropping her foot back onto the ground. ‘Steal from me once, shame on me. Steal from me twice, you’ll be eating out of a straw for the rest of your life.’

‘Though I can’t help but notice some of those rare books are missing.’ Mary Margaret pulled her lips into a thin line, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘You didn’t happen to take them out, did you?’

Emma shook her head, a frown coating her features. They avoided the witcher potions, the expertly crafted bombs and the dangerous runestones, all of which could provide an obscene amount of entertainment, but they steal _books_?

She couldn’t help but chastise herself for even blindly offering the chance to leave those objects unattended.

‘What were in those books?’ inquired Mary Margaret, a curious gleam in her eyes. ‘There couldn’t possibly have been something in them so important that someone would resort to theft?’

‘Aside from them probably being worth more than a few gold coins, I can’t say.’ Emma shrugged her shoulders. ‘There wasn’t anything that important—just some books with rare ballads I enjoy, a notebook on some of the spells I’d been working on and—’

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Emma wasn’t often one to jump to conclusions, but she suddenly felt ashamed for thinking this could have been the Lost Boys. They were misguided and lacked self-preservation, especially given how they would boldly challenge her every chance they got, but they certainly weren’t melodramatic villains out to wreck life as people knew it.

‘What?’ Mary Margaret frowned. ‘What’s missing?’

The witcher stepped passed her, reaching into the small space in search of the book. It wasn’t dangerous, per say, but it had the potential to lead to disastrous consequences.

What was it Regina always said? Information is power. Well, whomever had just swiped Emma’s things from under her nose was seated on the mother load.

‘It’s not here.’

‘What’s not there?’

‘My old Witcher Tome,’ answered Emma, eyebrows knitting together in worry. ‘It’s littered with elven prophecies, forbidden magical items and some pretty dark entries about Dark Magic, even darker than anything Cora or Rumplestiltskin’s ever used.’

If someone who actually knew how to use it managed to get their hands onto it...

Mary Margaret’s jaw nearly dropped. She looked about ready to either smack Emma at the back of her head or combust from sheer panic.

‘_Why _would you have something like that?!’ The raven-haired woman threw her arms into the air, her alabaster skin somehow managing to pale even more. ‘Are you _insane_?’

‘Every witcher has one,’ Emma calmly reasoned, holding a handout to placate her mother. ‘Information is worth more than gold to us. If I know about these things, then I know what to do when I encounter anything in that area.’

‘Okay, well who would want that?’

Emma scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Who wouldn’t want that? There were plenty of "reformed" villains in the quaint fairytale town; Scar, Gothel, Cruella de Vil, some chick called Madame Medusa, and those were just those who had been given influential spots in society with a lot of _money_. Any one of them could want information the dark arts. 

The question was; what were they after? Emma didn’t know the tome out of her head, but most of the things she could recall did _not _involve "teatime" or "rainbows and unicorns". They involved Armageddon, End of all worlds, countless of deaths piling up from the side of "righteousness".

‘I don’t know, but we need to find out and we need to find out _now_.’ She shut the wall behind her, concealing its existance at first glance. Emma would tend to the broken runestones later. That tome was her top priority above all else. ‘I’ll head out, talk to one of the Lost Boys. He and I have an understanding. He’s bound to know something.’

* * *

‘Well?’ Regina questioned the moment mother and daughter entered the kitchen in tow. ‘Do either of you know who the clothing thieves are?’

Emma and Mary Margaret shared a look. It annoyed Regina that they seemed to have developed the same bond that the latter and her beloved had once had. The two women would often share such conversations with each other without even uttering a single word.

It’s most likely what happens when you’re forced to rely on the other. To be the key to each other’s survival in a wasteland must have been both a blessing and a curse.

‘No,’ answered Mary Margaret. ‘We suspect it must have been the Lost Boys, at least one of them, given how fond they are of practical jokes.’

‘You _suspect_?’ Regina looked between the two women. ‘So, you don’t know for certain?’

‘Well, no.’ Emma’s hand went to rest on the hunting knife out of habit. ‘We don’t have any concrete evidence, so I’ll have to send Ruby to dust for some fingerprints. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something in the database. Right now, we had just been going on theories and my own vendetta against those little a—I mean delinquents.’

‘What are you going to do with the thieves once you find them, Ma?’ Henry questioned, more out of innocent curiosity than anything else. ‘Are you going to arrest them?’

‘Among other things.’

Regina didn’t need or even want to know what the witcher meant by that. The sorceress didn’t miss the pointed look that Mary Margaret sent the blonde’s way, but the woman didn’t object to it either.

Something was off.

It was hard to determine whether Emma was hiding something even before her transformation. She was a skilled liar, and now that she held her composure far better than she had before, it was impossible to determine whether she was being completely forthcoming.

Mary Margaret had never been much of a liar. She had too many tells, too many ways to give herself away. Now, however, she was perfectly calm. She was smiling even. 

The scene was too perfect. 

‘Yes, well, I’m sure this criminal will be caught soon enough.’ Regina drummed her fingers on the table as she pursed her lips. She narrowed her eyes at Mary Margaret, knowing she would have an easier time making the woman sweat than she would with Emma. ‘Someone foolish enough enter _my _home without permission must quite possibly be the most careless person in town.’

A smirk graced Emma’s lips, ‘Then I guess we’re going to have to start with Leroy.’

Mary Margaret slapped Emma’s shoulder in reprimand, but the blonde wasn’t phased. The warning was dulled by the fact that the raven-haired woman wore a smirk of her own.

‘I should be on my way,’ suggested Mary Margaret. ‘Come along, Henry.’

‘Thanks for the clothes, mom,’ said Emma. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Before either Emma or Regina could give their greeting to Henry, the boy raced off his chair, grabbing his backpack in the same fluid motion. Mary Margaret followed him with wide, shocked eyes, flinching when the door slammed shut.

Outside his muffle cry of ‘_Come on, grandma!_’ filtered into the house, drawing a sheepish smile from the woman in question.

A sigh escaped Regina, resigned to the boy’s behavior. She had seen this happened far too many times, but each one somehow made her whole being ache even more. It felt like a knife was being thrusted into her stomach and twisted for the sick satisfaction of her assailant.

Emma clicks her tongue in disapproval. Her expression was that of someone who was reminding herself that she should chastise the boy the next time she saw him, but it fell away when she turned towards Mary Margaret.

‘Go on, Mom,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t want to keep my off-spring waiting.’

‘Keep me posted on... _things_.’ Mary Margaret offered a smile to Emma, then a small wave to Regina before she turned on her heels.

Well, that was _peculiar_. They were hiding something.

Regina watched as Emma made her way to the pot of coffee, grabbing a mug from the cupboard above and pouring herself some of the steaming liquid. When she brought it to her lips, she practically inhaled most of the contents inside the cup through her nose before she took a gulp of the scalding coffee.

She didn’t even flinch.

‘What’s with the bestiaries?’ Emma steps closer towards her, dragging out the chair next to her. Her lean figure dropped down, the furniture creaking at the new and muscular weight on top of it. ‘There something I don’t know about?’

Regina’s eyes went to the books spread out in front of them. She had closed one of the volumes just before Emma and Mary Margaret had come down the stairs, but she still had a good mind to familiarize herself with them.

‘I thought it would be a good idea to know a little more of these creatures you’re so overly fond of.’

Emma snorted at that. They both knew how often the blonde would dread facing off against the latest magical beast threatening havoc. Not only did she return home with cuts running deeper than the Nile, but she also didn’t enjoy killing as much as she was forced to do.

It made Regina wonder why Emma had chosen to become a witcher. She clearly didn’t enjoy the work like some did and she often held gleams of sadness that the brunette couldn’t even begin to comprehend. She was a complete contradiction to what Regina knew of witchers.

‘The theory is the most crucial part,’ informed Emma. ‘Knowing the difference between a ghoul and an alghoul will save your life. It’s saved mine more than once.’

‘Pray tell, witcher, what is the difference?’

‘Oh, well, by the markings, of course,’ Emma’s voice vibrated as she spoke, gaining a melodramatic lilt as she spoke. ‘Like unto the panthera tigris that in Zerrikania dwells, and by the sickly paleness of its visage.’

‘I’m impressed, witcher,’ hummed the sorceress. ‘You’ve read _Ghouls and Alghouls by John of Burge_?’

‘It’s one of the very first things the stuff down your throat in the _scholae_.’ Emma shrugged. ‘In all seriousness, a ghoul is smaller; vaguely resembles a human, but if they had once been one those days are long gone.’

Regina couldn’t help but notice how deathly serious Emma had become. She had seen the scars on Emma before, more often than she liked, and there was no denying it that the witcher had had a few run-ins with these dull creatures.

Ghouls had often been tales told to scare young children. They appeared in nursery rhymes to warn anyone not to stray to far from the path, not to go wandering into the forests. It made Regina queasy to think of these creatures' partiality to rotting human flesh.

‘An alghoul,’ continued Emma, swirling her coffee around. ‘Now, they’re much bigger. Basically, a badass ghoul. They are much faster, much stronger, too.’

The witcher pulled her right sleeve back to reveal a nasty bite mark in her forearm. The flesh was faded, a few years old at least.

The jaws of this creature must have locked onto Emma and had she not had the goddess of luck on her side she could have lost her arm. The way the scars stretched, revealing how deep it must once have been, said as much.

‘_That_,’ Emma motioned with her head towards the old injury, ‘is the difference between a ghoul and an alghoul.’

Before Regina could think to comment on the subject, Emma gulped down the rest of her drink. She scooted back the chair and then pushed herself to her feet.

‘I’ll see you later. The imbeciles that stole all my stuff aren’t going to just suddenly return them.’

‘Yes, I’ll be here. Amounting to absolutely nothing,’ deadpanned Regina. Then, she hesitated, ‘Miss Swan?’

‘Hm?’

Regina opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came forth. Deciding against what she was going to say, ‘Before you try and do something stupid, have the decency to inform me. I don’t mind keeping you alive for Henry’s sake.’

‘Is that concern I hear?’

‘Caution. There’s a difference, _Charming_.’

‘Caution sprinkled with the _slightest _concern.’

Regina rolled her eyes. ‘My, oh, my. Someone thinks rather highly of themselves.’

Emma chuckled. ‘I’ll be fine, Regina. Enjoy your "Me Time".’

As much as the sorceress enjoyed the peace and quiet from time to time, she couldn’t help the nagging feeling that there was something Emma was keeping from her. 

She would push that aside for now, focusing on work and planning what to make for dinner that could feed the alleged ten growing boys that lived in her home. There would be time to draw out what she wanted from the witcher. There would be time, she told herself.


	3. Orphans, Happy Huntings and Woodland Spirits

‘Scatter! It’s the witcher!’

The order was bellowed by Thud Butt, the newly appointed leader of the Lost Boys after Emma had run her sword through Pan and then his second-in-command, Rufio. Like most of the narrow-minded townsfolk, the gang of delinquents had come to fear Emma because of this, failing to keep in mind that both these villains had been the reason why Henry had been kidnapped. 

The scene before Emma unfolded in a matter of seconds. Each of the orphans took off in different directions, scattering across the wooden floors of the convent and diving out the windows of their choice.

It reminded Emma of her own youthful childhood as a foster kid. Even uttering the word "cop" was taboo, and falsely crying wolf would get you your teeth bashed in. She also knew what it was like the moment any law enforcer would step into a group home or the home of the people you had been placed with.

The only difference between Emma and these kids were that she wouldn’t have waited for any order to take off. Especially not from someone who called himself "Thud Butt" and thought it was cool.

‘Oh, dear.’

Astrid, the unfortunate designated "babysitter", had all the blood drained out of her in seconds, her voice timid and small. Not only was she tasked with accompanying Emma, but she now had the unfortunate luck of losing a total of twelve kids in a matter of a few seconds.

Emma took off into a sprint, her heavy feet thunking against the floor as she ran. She slid to a stop against the window, grabbing onto the foot of the unfortunate miscreant. Lifting him back into the room, Emma’s eyes locked with Latchboy’s dark blue. He smiled up sheepishly at her, swinging from side to side as he dangled in Emma’s grasp.

‘Fine mornin' for a stroll, isn’t it, Mistress Witcher?’

She had a good mind to drop in on his head. Out the window. But Astrid looked about ready to turn into a wraith.

‘Awful cheery for someone who robbed me and had just been caught,’ said Emma. Her expression didn’t falter, her amber orbs boring into the boy.

‘Wait, what now?’ 

Emma turned to face Astrid, who looked like she wanted to intervene. Latchboy simply continues to dangle, his limbs having gone jelly and smoke steaming out of his hears as he attempted to understand what Emma meant by the accusation.

‘I’ll take it from here, sister.’ The blonde motioned with her other hands towards the door. ‘It’ll only be a few minutes.’

Astrid’s eyes darted between Emma and the mildly panicking boy. The witcher knew all too well that Mother Superior must have had a conversation with the woman before she greeted Emma by the door. She certainly must have told the nun not to leave Emma alone with the boy.

‘Are you certain? I honestly wouldn’t mind... keeping an eye on things.’

‘I’m not going to hurt the kid,’ reassured Emma, glancing over to Latchboy. ‘We’re just going to... _talk_.’

Latchboy gulped, but he had the better sense not to beg the woman not to leave him alone with the witcher. 

The nun hesitated for a brief moment, then she muttered a ‘Yes, of course, Sheriff’, turning on her heels and making a hasty exit. Emma could hear her going on about how she _needed to alert the others of the Lost Boys' disappearance, anyways_. It wasn’t long before she was out of sight and then out of mind.

Now, it was just Emma and Latchboy.

She didn’t even hesitate to loosen her grip, causing the Lost Boy to collide with the floor. The sound resonated through the room and brought a small, entertained smile to Emma’s lips. She crossed her arms over her chest, missing the security her armor often brought her.

‘Ow! I thought you said you weren’t going to hurt me?’

‘Look, kid, I’m tired and I’m pissed. I want answers and you’re going to give them to me. If you don’t, a few bruises is going to be the last of your concerns.’ 

Emma hunched down, bringing herself eye to eye with Latchboy. She reached out before he could scramble away, grabbing him by his shirt. She rose with him in her grasp, setting him down onto his feet. 

She instructed, ‘Talk.’

Latchboy grumbled. He looked so small, barely even reaching above Emma’s waist. He couldn’t be much younger than Henry himself— eleven, maybe even twelve. It made her that more aware of the fact that this could have been her. 

Once upon a time, that had been her.

Emma bent forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘Tell you what, keep all my stuff. I just want my Witcher Tome back—the book with the black leather and the lion figurehead—and I want to know who wanted you to steal it from me.’

‘Mistress Witcher, we’re an annoying bunch of rapscallions, but we didn’t steal nothing.’

Either Latchboy had become a better liar overnight, or he was telling the truth. His heart rate didn’t change, he wasn’t anxious, and his eyes didn’t dart around. None of his tells broke through the surface.

The witcher pulled back, genuinely shocked by this revelation. The boy wasn’t lying. The Lost Boys hadn’t been the ones who stole her clothes or her books. Latchboy likely didn’t even know who did. When she had first mentioned that she had been robbed, he had been genuinely shocked.

‘We’re pranksters, not thieves,’ he continued when she remained silent for too long. ‘It’s against the code—working for anyone other than ourselves. Thud Butt forbids it just like Pan had. I don’t know who has this tome of yours. I’m certain not one of us do.’

‘Where were you this morning then?’

‘Here with the rest of the lads, cleaning up me part of the room.’ He motioned vaguely to the rest of the area. For once their living quarters didn’t look or smell like bath house. ‘We might be animals, like you would say, but doesn’t mean we have to live like 'em. I’ll have you know I’m quite fond of lavender scents.’

The witcher rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but notice those scents floating through the room. Pan had ruled them with an iron fist, but they enjoyed living in the dirt and mud as much as their leader had. What adolescent boy enjoyed cleaning up after himself? Or any scents that didn’t come from nature itself.

This cleaning spree must have been brought on by Mother Superior, at the very least one of the other sisters. Emma could imagine one of them entering this room and having an epileptic seizure just by the mere sight of its state. Now that Emma thought of it, the last time she had been in there she hadn’t even seen the floor.

Had it always been that color?

‘Someone framed you,’ concluded Emma, glancing away in thought. ‘The question is who? And why would they want to throw me off their trail?’

‘Who knows?’ shrugged Latchboy, ‘I can count on both hands and feet the amount of people that dislike us in this town. I think you oughta go down that list before you come in here and start accusing us of something again.’

‘Watch it,’ she warned. ‘Don’t think I don’t know about you and the other boys TP-ing the _Jolly Roger_. You’re not as skilled as you think you are at hiding evidence.’

A sheepish smile graced his lips, and Emma imagined two small horns sprouting from his head and a long pointy tail slithering through one of the many tears in his trousers. All he needed now was the pitchfork.

The witcher opened her mouth, but before she could utter another word, Latchboy bolted. Like he had attempted earlier, he flew out the window and disappeared off to meet with the rest of his gang.

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, annoyance burning within her chest, but she had gotten what she had wanted from the child. Now it was just a matter of finding out who _did _steal from her. Hopefully now she wouldn’t just be able to return the tome, but her clothing as well.

Preparing to turn on her heels, Emma mentally prepared herself for the conversation she’s about to have with Mother Superior. The witcher was certain that if the woman was as partial to her feathery dresses as she had been in the Enchanted Forest, she would look like a bird, puffing out its feathers in anger. The image would have brought a pleased smirk to Emma’s face, quelling the intensity of the argument in her mind.

Unfortunately, the corners of her mouth didn’t even tuck upwards.

The moment Emma took a step towards the door, something peculiar happens. Her medallion trembled against her chest with such a fury that it looked as though it wanted to tear itself from around her neck. The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and a shiver ran down her spine.

A shift in energy.

It felt as though the world tilted on its axis, and had she been the bail bondswoman she had been eleven years ago, it would have knocked the air completely out of her lungs and left her gasping for breath.

She could visually see Regina gripping onto the kitchen table, bracing for the overwhelming force that had just slammed into her. The sorceress was by no means a novice, but she was sensitive to such a large change on the scale. Emma was hard and tough; the very definition of a brick wall. It didn’t affect her as it would most magic users.

Emma knew what that was. She could feel it still vibrating through her bones even as the effects of it began to fade away. Whenever someone in the Enchanted Forest used powerful magic, especially Cora, she knew of it instantly. Just like now. 

Someone, somewhere in Storybrooke, was playing with fire. Dangerous, excruciatingly hot, fire. And either they were going to kill themselves _or _they were going to kill the poor saps living in town. Emma was one of those poor saps.

‘If that dumbass isn’t already dead,’ she grumbled, recomposing herself. ‘They will be by the time I’m done.’

* * *

Trust the complete halfwits in town to ruin a perfectly relaxing Saturday. Regina could just tell by the look on Emma’s face that whatever had come through that fissure was anything but good. The way her whole face contorted in a grim expression, the scar across her eye crinkling, her cat-like eyes homing in on the paw print nestled in between the grass and mud. 

The barrier between worlds had already been so fragile, especially after Greg and Tamara had tossed magic beans around as though it grew on every second tree. Fissures were the result of this strange change in energy; tears in between worlds that allowed creatures from the old world, and various other monstrosities through. Like the one they needed to find now.

Regina wasn’t a novice in the magical arts, and she knew quite a bit in theoretical perspective when it came to magical creatures. However, there wasn’t a sorcerer or sorceress in the world who could come close to the skill of a witcher. This was Emma’s element; she knew exactly how to work around these beasts and perhaps even find a peaceful solution. The last thing they needed was a trail of corpses with the faces of their neighbors.

‘It’s a leshen,’ informed Emma, her voice heavy and thick. Regina could tell by the way she pulled her rosy lips into a thin line that she was worried.

_Well, there goes any hope for a peaceful solution._

‘Yes, well, why should anything ever be easy?’ Regina sniffed, rolling her eyes skyward. ‘There is nothing like dueling ancient tree spirits for territory to keep one’s wits about.’

‘Yeah,’ groused Emma. ‘It’ll be some duel alright. We’ll be lucky if we walk away with our limbs intact.’

That was putting it mildly. 

Leshens were as powerful as they were dangerous and hunted its victims with stealth and cunning as their only companions. The last time she had seen the work of these forest dwellers, it had used its control over plants and animals to tear an unfortunate hunter apart, crushing bits of him with roots and vines.

Most peasants had often believed this tree spirit to be a protector of the forest, often worshipping it like a god, but people like Emma and Regina knew better. A leshy lived only to kill and despite the few times she had seen the remains of its victims, it was more commonly known for devouring its prey whole.

Emma rose to her feet, retrieving her compass from inside a pouch attached to her belt. Regina had seen the witcher use it before on various occasions in Neverland, often cradling it like it was a priceless artifact. What stood out about it mostly was two main things: that it was a _vegvisir_; a magical navigation instrument that the vikings had used—and that there was a small photograph inside. Regina’s never even managed to get a glimpse of this person, because every attempt had been futile. 

Just as it was now.

The witcher glanced back to Regina, growing self-conscious almost instantly. She hurriedly shut the item before tucking it back into her pouch.

‘It’s heading South, deeper into the woods.’ Emma cleared her throat awkwardly, motioning vaguely into the trees, the trail growing denser as the bushes and shrubbery attempted to consume it. ‘It’s about half an hour ahead of us, so it wouldn’t have been able to place any of its shrines yet.’

Regina hummed, her pools of chocolate brown orbs eyeing the witcher with curiosity. ‘Well, at least there’s a bright side in this scenario. No shrines mean he hasn’t yet manifested himself in the area. He won’t be at his full strength.’

Whilst it did bring hope to Regina that she wouldn’t meet the gods as soon as she thought, she still wasn’t as positive as she liked to be. The leshen was weaker, yes, but not by too much. No matter how old or young, leshens wielded advanced skills and tactics that made even the most skilled of warriors look like a novice.

‘Tell me, witcher, how would you like to play this?’

‘I don’t think I have the time to prepare for a fight, and I sure as hell don’t have any bombs on me,’ she sighed, scratching the back of her neck in thought. ‘My signs will have to be enough.’

‘Oh, you mean your cheap parlor tricks?’ mocked Regina, narrowing her eyes. ‘Yes, I think that’ll suffice. Would you like to write your will and testament before we head out on this suicide mission, or shall Henry just assume you’re giving what little you have to charity?’

Emma tsked, then stepped past the sorceress to begin trailing the monster.

They continued their journey in silence, stopping every so often so that Regina could swat at insects. Emma opted to draw her silver sword, preparing herself for whenever the leshen thought it appropriate to catch them off guard. She slashed through the plants managing to get in their way, the blade making their traveling much easier.

Unable to help her herself, Regina thought of how the witcher had come a long way since the bail bondswoman who had refused to believe in magic. While she had been a force to be reckoned with and she managed to get onto every nerve Regina hadn’t even known existed, this version of "Miss Swan" was something else; she was secretive, kept to herself and she was infuriatingly professional. The only people Emma managed to open herself up to included Henry, her mother and on occasion Ruby. 

Regina didn’t care whether Emma shared her _feelings_. She certainly didn’t care about Emma either. She was merely concerned what kind of an example the witcher was setting for their son, whom was enamored with his mother's new way of life.

The sorceress nearly lost her footing when her foot snagged on a root sticking out of the ground, but she was caught by two warm and strong hands. She looked up in shock, coming face to face with Emma. Given her advanced reflexes and senses, the witcher must have immediately known when Regina became in distress.

Regina cleared her voice, straightening herself from Emma’s touch. Giving her gratitude out loud was not only unthinkable, but physically impossible. Especially when it would no doubt only serve in growing the witcher’s ego even larger than it already was. 

Emma grunted, her face remaining painfully passive as it always did, but Regina could tell that she was often soft on her, so to speak.

Thankfully, they were saved by Emma’s cellphone chiming in her pocket. She retrieved the item slowly, failing to yet break eye contact with Regina. She placed the device on speaker.

‘Got some good news for me, Lucas?’

‘_Unfortunately, it’s not your friendly neighborhood wolfie, mate,_’ Will’s accented voice came from the other end. ‘_And no, the lass doesn’t have any good news. She is still trying to get the sample of the fingerprints she found back from the labs. Mr. Glickenstein is apparently backed up with work, so she keeps getting the assistants._’

A scoff nearly escaped Regina. The head M.E. was just as insane as Dr. Frankenstein himself. Igor was most likely occupied fawning over the few corpses in the morgue rather than doing his job.

‘She needs to go down there herself, he likes apple strudels, that usually does the trick for me. Is that why you called, Scarlet?’

‘_No_,’ Will said quickly before he relayed the advice to Ruby. A string of colorful vocabulary followed, consisting mostly of Ruby complaining about how Igor gave her "the creeps", but it soon faded farther away into the background. A second later, the former thief spoke again, ‘_I went to talk to Mother Superior, like you asked, but she wasn’t the one to cause your "shift in the cosmos". All the wee pixies' sparkly shite is still safely locked away in their vault._’

‘Damnit,’ muttered Regina. ‘Who else would be stupid enough to cause this?’

‘_I don’t know,_’ said Will, sniffing into the speaker. ‘_All I know, your majesty, is that those privileged snobs don’t give a flying fuck about us lowly non-magic users. They wouldn’t even try to help us in the investigation._’

‘10-12, Scarlet,’ Emma stated in a warning tone.

Regina wondered if she should inform the witcher that she knew what some of their codes meant, given that Henry had an obsession in such a range the length of the Grand Canyon, but she thought it adorable that the witcher wanted her rapscallion of a deputy to watch his mouth in the presence of the sorceress.

‘_Aye, Sheriff. Sorry, Sheriff,_’ Will replied in a mocking tone. ‘_Shall I order the lady tea and crumpets, and have it sent over in a jiffy?_’

‘Okay, I’m in the middle of something important, Scarlet, so if that’s all—’

‘_Ah, no, there was something else. Jefferson called._’

Emma and Regina shared a curious look. The man kept to himself, hauling himself and his daughter into his enormous mansion. He was there for Grace on an exponential level, bending over backwards to be at whatever activity she partook in. Other than that, he rarely left her house.

‘What did he want?’ questioned Emma, tapping her sword against her boot in boredom. 

‘_Wouldn’t tell me, boss-lady._’ Will’s voice drifted away, yelling something over to the other deputy, Milah, about how she wasn’t using the printer correctly. ‘_He just said to call him when you get the chance, mate. I gotta go before Milah either empties a magazine into the old dinosaur or simply rams her sword into it. Either way, it’ll be quite the paperwork mess awaiting the two of us._’

‘Yeah, you better get on that. Tell Ruby to call me once she’s got something.’ Emma ended the call, stuffing her cellphone back into her pocket.

A sigh escaped Regina. She had hoped that it had been the Blue Fairy and her convent who would be foolish enough to use magic powerful enough to leave the barrier between worlds even more fragile than it already was. Gold was in the wind ever since their return to Neverland, and even if it had been him, Regina would have known instantly. He had a particular skillset that she was able to sense miles away, leaving a nasty aftertaste in her mouth.

This town didn’t need another practitioner of the dark arts and unfortunately for them the possibilities seemed to be leaning towards that cold and harsh dose of reality.

‘When did you and Jefferson become such close friends?’ Regina mocked, trying to change her dark and dreary train of thoughts.

‘We’ve shared a few beers,’ shrugged Emma, not finding it an issue that she hadn’t shared this piece of information with the sorceress. 

Regina could tell that Emma wasn’t being entirely truthful with her and it left her uneasy that it was the second time that day. She supposed that it was fair, given that she too kept secrets of her own, but that didn’t mean she had to be pleased.

A small smirk merely graced Emma’s lips, ‘Come on, your majesty. We need to pick up the pace.’

They were nearing their destination now and Regina could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She honestly didn’t want to die that day, especially not with the ridiculous parol title of "honorary magic consultant" to the Sheriff’s department, given to her by none other than Snow White and her idiot of a husband. She needed to live in order to outlive the punishment.

Neither of them said anything when Emma gallantly extended her hands towards Regina and began to help her down a slippery decline. She held onto the witcher’s hand far too tightly than necessary, but she didn’t let go through the entirety of the interaction. When they reached the bottom, it took Emma clearing her voice for the sorceress to release her hold.

‘Remember,’ Emma started, ‘if the leshen is here, like we expect it to be, half the battle is getting close enough to actually land a hit. You’ll have an easier time striking him with your magic, but you still need to be careful. It doesn’t matter if most of its attention is focused on me. Leshens are cunning bastards.’

‘Thank you for the bestiary entry, Miss Swan. Are all of your handwritten notes this colorful?’

Emma scoffed. ‘Most of those handwritten notes are my _mother_’s.’

The sorceress nearly tripped over herself this time around.

The deeper that they ventured into the woods, the darker and more ominous it grew. Regina could hear crows in the distance, a wolf’s howl just beyond her range of vision; she knew this to be all signs of the leshen’s presence.

Out of the corner of Regina’s eye, she saw Emma retrieving a small bottle. She popped the cork of the potion and tossed it back, swallowing the contents with one big gulp. Her skin paling and her veins illuminating beneath her flesh. You would assume that she had been struck with a fatal illness, but Regina new better. Even with the witcher’s toxicity rising in her body, she was much stronger with the potion coursing through her veins.

Regina could only assume that this meant the leshen couldn’t be far now.

They ventured out into a small clearing, the trees still blocking any sunlight from falling on them. Regina even had to squint slightly to gain better vision of the area. A few feet away from them, a single figure stood. As it turned, Regina’s eyes fell on its deer-like skull for a head and its tree-like limbs.

It moved quietly, the only noise that it emanated sounding like trees rustling in the wind. Unlocking its jaw, an inhumane sound tore from its throat, reminding Regina of a tree falling in the forest. A shrill ran down her spine, goosebumps forming across her skin.

They were unprepared and had little information to go on. Regina thought of how Emma would often say that an uninformed witcher was as good as a dead witcher. Still, Emma twirled her sword in her grasp and took a fighting stance.

‘Come on, you filthy, son of a bitch,’ the witcher snarled, tightening her grip on the hilt of her weapon.

* * *

Pain exploded through Emma’s shoulder as she collided with the tree truck, her blade skidding away in the grass, completely out of her reach. She groaned, biting the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from crying out. Blood pooled inside of her mouth just as it coated the last proper shirt she had left.

Leshen’s enjoyed using their abilities over the animals and the plants. Like now, Regina was occupied with a pack of wolves, aiming to tear her flesh from her bone and feast on her dead carcass, while Emma currently had the root of a tree lodged in her left shoulder. 

It would heal, she told herself, but her arm was going to be essentially useless in the fight from that point on. Not to mention human steel served no purpose when it came to fighting a leshen and the only weapon she had that wasn’t considered a toothpick lay several feet away.

The creature approached, moving as though it were satisfied with itself for managing to best her. If it could, Emma was certain that it would laugh at her for allowing herself to be placed in this situation. 

Emma quickly drew the hunting knife strapped to her side, luckily crafted from witcher silver just like the sword that lay a good four or five feet away. Instinct drove her to toss it towards the leshen, skillfully hitting her target. The weapon lodged itself into the leshen’s eye socket, causing it to cry out in raged agony. The root drew back into the ground, dropping Emma back down and giving her the opportunity to scrambled for her blade.

In all honesty, she didn’t see it possible to make it out of this alive. She had no armor, no oils to coat her blade with, no bombs to toss at the monster and she had just drunk her last vitality potion. Emma would be lucky if she died painlessly and quickly.

The leshen reached up, gripping its claw-like hands around Emma’s blade and wrenching it free. It fell to the ground harmlessly and the leshen focused its attention back on Emma, another roar tearing through the woods.

Moving to her right, Emma and the leshen stared each other down. Her left arm hung loosely, uselessly only providing a distraction. The stench of blood, her blood, clogged up her nose and she could feel the affects of the potions leaving her body. Soon her heart rate would return to its normal pace. The leshen would not only be faster than her, but she would be more susceptible to pain.

This time it was she who attacked, running towards the leshen. It tried to swipe at her, but she effortlessly stepped aside. Her sword swung upwards, the silver dragging across the creature’s wooden chest, drawing an oozing black substance. When it tried to retaliate, Emma delivered a swift kick to its lower torso, sending it stumbling back a pace or two.

She could hear Henry’s teasing already, amused by the fact that she had to resort to something as low as a "Spartan Kick". The thought made her more annoyed than she already was, the ache in her shoulder only worsening.

The leshen, unaffected by the only attacks she had landed on it thus far, raised its hand in preparation. The ground beneath Emma’s feet rumbled as the roots beneath it tore through the layer of earth. She rolled to the side in order to dodge the attack. Managing to pull herself back onto her feet, she snarled at the leshen, her teeth stained with her own blood.

‘Miss Swan, are you planning to actually defeat this creature, or are you just simply going to allow it to swat you around like a fly for the rest of the afternoon?’

‘You ain’t lookin' too hot yourself there, _your highness_.’

Regina was fairing much better than Emma herself. Even whilst being occupied by the leshen’s pack of wolves that continuously surrounded her and the murder of crows that swooped down from the heavens above, not even a single hair was out of place. Most of the pack had run off, bested by the former queen and a trail of dead crows lay amongst the battlefield. She was doing a marvelous job at keeping them away from Emma.

Emma was harshly reminded of her standing with the leshen when a wooden pillar emerged from the ground, colliding with her chest. She flew back, skidding across the floor, the air knocked from her lungs. She gasped for breath from where she lay on her back, momentarily deciding to ignore the reality of how close she was to death.

She’s faced such a woodland creature before; cut of the heads of hundreds of beasts just like this one, but today she was thrown off her game. Nothing was going her way, and everyone thought it was a good idea to pull one over her.

Lifting her head, she could see the leshen making its way towards her. She wondered if she would finally witness the leshy consume its victim whole, leaving not even a trace of her body afterwards. 

Then, before she could melodramatically resign herself to her fate, vines emerged from the ground. They flew like ice picks into the leshen, mounting him against the nearest tree. Emma’s gaze followed back towards Regina; her hand stretched outward in a striking motion; her face contorted with a ferocity that Emma had only seen for the sake of protecting Henry.

‘Thanks,’ she tossed into the air, dropping her head back down onto the ground. She sounded as breathless as she felt, the ache now having moved to the entirety of her body.

Everything was still ringing from when her head had first it the ground, but at least events weren’t dramatically playing out in her head like the climax of a character arc. The air that filled her lungs still entered painfully and Emma wondered if that was because she might possibly have a collapsed lung.

‘I thought you could handle a little old spriggan, Miss Swan,’ said Regina dryly, a wry grin on her lips. ‘It’s why I allowed you to play hero in this scenario.’

Emma grunted, ‘M'not a hero. I’m a damn professional.’

The mocking laugh that resonated from the sorceress' lips rang in Emma’s ears just like the sound of Regina’s heels as she approached. 

Damn her heightened senses to the underworld and beyond.

Though the closer Regina came, the grimmer her expression became. She swept the carnage of Emma’s body with her eyes, small traces of something that Emma couldn’t place dancing in them. Regina knelt next to Emma and she was forced to look at a spot behind the brunette in order to avoid looking up the woman’s skirt. The sorceress gripped onto Emma’s elbow, almost causing a whole other pain to shoot through the witcher.

‘You’re hurt,’ she bristled at the sight, the hole in Emma’s shirt directing attention towards the nasty wound beneath it.

‘Thank you, Cap'n Obvious.’

Instead of retorting, Regina’s hand shifted to Emma’s shoulder and she pressed her thumb just below the injury.

A strangled sound escaped Emma, nearly reacting out of her instincts. Regina might be a beautiful thorn in her side, but she would rather chop off her own arm than hurt the woman in anyway.

‘Well, would you look at that,’ hummed Regina, sending a condescending look towards Emma. ‘You’re _not _as indestructible as you thought.’

‘Fuck off, Regina.’

‘Profanity is the wit of an imbecile, Miss Swan,’ she responded far too smugly. ‘Now do you need help getting up or can you walk on your own? We need to heal these wounds and I’d like to get out of these woods as soon as possible. It will also take a moment for my magic to fully regenerate given how much I’ve depleted during the fight.’

The last part made Emma pause, the softness in Regina’s voice sounding very unlike the woman she knew. Emma could feel the tender way that the sorceress' hand relaxed against her shoulder contradicting the image of her in Emma’s mind even more so.

‘I’m fine,’ she muttered.

Gathering what strength she had, desperate to keep what dignity she had left in tact, Emma pushed herself off the ground. She sheathed her sword, then directed her gaze towards the leshen. The creature mewled, the last bits of energy it had left draining from his dying body. Black ooze coated the vines dripped down onto the forest floor, the stench of darkness nearly making Emma gag.

‘We need to find the person who caused this fissure to open,’ announced Emma, clenching her fists. ‘They’re going to get us all killed.’

‘That shift in energy is going to cause more than just one fissure to open,’ informed Regina. ‘Our troubles have only just begun.’

A flash of Emma’s Witcher tome filled her mind, causing her lips to pull into a thin line. Regina didn’t know how true those words were.

* * *

Latchboy grunted, hoisting himself through the window of the enormous mansion. He collided with the wooden floor, his back cracking from the fall. He wasn’t sure how long he has been running and he sure as hell wasn’t certain if Emma was still chasing after him, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He’d steer clear of the Orphanage for as long as he needed to.

He still wasn’t familiar with this strange new world and where he had ended up, he didn’t know. It looked to him like he had stumbled into an office of some sort. The desk that stood idly in the room was littered in thousands of papers and files, practically consuming the furniture.

Latchboy scoffed at the sight of all the books gathering dust on the shelves against the walls. It made him feel small, seeing such a large range of literature when he himself couldn’t even read and he supposed there was some downsides living on an island with no rules, no parents and no schools.

Venturing deeper into the study, he made his way closer towards the desk. His eyes glimpsed over a picture sitting on the corner. He had seen the girl around town, always with the same man now standing next to her or with Emma’s kid, Henry. He didn’t know them at all, but they’ve never frowned their way. They were some of the few folks that left the Lost Boys in peace.

Someone’s feet stomped up the stairs, and Latchboy knew he was in for trouble. He hurriedly dove underneath the desk, hiding away from whomever had just entered. His eyes caught sight of the fancy kind of shoes that most folk with a lot of money wore and he could hear the man muttering to himself as he gathered the papers off the desk and tore at the ones that had been plastered to the wall.

Sneaking a peek, Latchboy noticed it was the girl’s father. Jefferson; the man partial to top hats and funny looking suits. He looked as though he had several screws loose, given the maniacal gleam behind his eyes. Latchboy wondered if he was in trouble given his rushed mannerisms.

The longer Latchboy hid, the more clearly the man’s words became. They had been so soft that he had simply thought they were the mumblings of someone who completely lost their minds, but the words soon began to register with the Lost Boy. The man continued to mumble the same sentence over, and over again:

_They’re coming._

Who was?

And why was this man afraid of them?

These were all good questions and ones that Latchboy would normally seek answers for, but as it were, he was a trespasser and he honestly didn’t need to be arrested. Then it would kind of defeat the point of running from Emma earlier.

No, Latchboy decided he would wait until the madman left before leaving his hiding place and then going out to seek for an entirely different one. He didn’t need an education to know that trouble was brewing in that mansion.

Jefferson’s feet came closer as he leaned over the desk and Latchboy’s eyes widened comically at the golden opportunity that just arose. He couldn’t help himself. His fingers physically ached and it would be a futile attempt to ignore the natural pull within him.

He tied the madman’s shoelaces together; his nimble fingers moving quickly over the shining black shoes.

Latchboy blamed his upbringing, knowing as a true follower of the deceased Pan he would always be jokester and troublemaker extraordinaire.

When Jefferson tried to take a step forward, his feet tugged against one another and he tripped over himself, a string of curses following succession.

The Lost Boy had to bite his fingers to prevent himself from giving a full-blown laughter. As snickers built up in the back of his throat, he swallowed them whole, knowing his antics might just be the end of him.

_Latchboy, you slick bastard, you did it again._

A second pair of footsteps drew his amusement to a close. The tension that suddenly filled the air caused a knot to form in Latchboy’s stomach. It felt as though the roof collapsed in on them given the weight of what was happening.

Latchboy wondered who could make Jefferson go so quiet that he couldn’t even hear the man breathing.

‘This... this isn’t... this isn’t what it looks like,’ the man fumbled over his words, attempting to rise to his feet only to fail miserably. ‘Please, I... I have a daughter.’

Silence followed, but Latchboy barely had the chance to be confused. 

_Pit. Pit._

Jefferson’s body slumped at the first strange sound, and the boy found a strange emotion filling in him. He felt nauseous and petrified all at the same time, and he didn’t even truly know what had just happened.

The footsteps left, trailing down the stairs and disappearing into the background.

Latchboy waited. And waited. Then he waited some more. It felt like an hour which must only have been ten minutes before he finally decided to move his lead-like limbs. He crawled out from where he had hidden himself, his mop of brown hair peaking out from behind the desk as he cautiously rose to his feet.

The boy didn’t know what he would find when he rounded the desk, but he surely hadn’t been expecting there to be so much blood. Nor did he expect Jefferson’s lifeless eyes to be staring back at him.

His only instinct was to run.


	4. The Tale of Nanja

Corpses and gory details were a part of the territory of the witcher, but Emma never thought she would see such things in Storybrooke; even after magical creatures seemed to integrate themselves into their society. Jefferson’s untimely death was going to shake the whole town, because it managed to shake Emma; even if just mildly.

Emma’s feet dragged across the porch and her hands fumbled with her keys before they slipped into the lock. It was surprisingly easy to allow her baggage from work to slip off her shoulders like an old, smelly gym bag and leave it by the door. She would be collecting it once she left early the next morning, having a duty to fulfill, but she wasn’t going to allow it to spoil the peace she felt in the mansion. She could set her feelings aside to focus on someone far more important.

Henry and Paige were thick as thieves—they and the Zimmer twins. Jefferson’s death was going to change how the foursome interacted and Emma didn’t have any clue how to broach this subject with her son, nor how to prepare him for this.

Her mind was no longer flogged with the robbery or the fissure, but it was consumed by thoughts whether Archie was the best choice for a grief counselor. Subtly was not his friend; especially when he first approached Emma regarding her PTSD.

In exhaustion, her house and car keys clattered to the drawer by the staircase, and she mentally scolded herself for the noise. Though, when she looked up in the direction of where Regina’s room was vaguely located, afraid she would have woken the woman and their son, her eyes caught the woman in the kitchen.

She slipped her swords over her head, watching the silhouette of the dark-haired beauty. Emma’s seen her fair share of it over the years; the Enchanted Forest was in no short supply of sorceresses and other women sympathetic to people like her, who would graciously spend an evening lost in a little bit of love, lust and paradise, but damn, Regina was something else.

The closer Emma came to the sorceress, the more she could observe what the woman was still doing up so late. She sat hunched over an old parchment with Storybrooke’s map drawn out. In her hand she held a marker, a glass of wine standing within her reach as she poured over the woodland area.

In the need of their usual bantering antics, she asked, ‘Hey, you—you waited up for me?’

‘No.’ Regina didn’t even bother to look up from the map. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Swan. I’m trying to determine where the next fissure is bound to open in the next forty-eight hours.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Why must I confirm that which had already been stated?’ The sorceress released a huff of annoyance. ‘Yes,  _ really _ . Your parents had taken it upon themselves to make the official magic expert in town and if something happens like today, then I’m the poor sap who must.  _ Fix. It _ .’

‘Well, I’d be inclined to believe you, were the map not currently upside down.’

The widening of Regina’s eyes and her head darting down to confirm this theory happened simultaneously.

The map, in fact,  _ wasn’t  _ upside down. Regina wasn’t so careless when building an alibi; props would be in the proper place, so even if it was a ploy, it would be a very good one. However, Emma had been testing the waters, trying to see if she could catch Regina in her lie. The moment that the witcher’s built-in lie detector had flared up she simply couldn’t help herself.

Regina looked up sharply at Emma, her long, red nails drumming melodramatically on the counter.

‘I loath you.’

‘Mhmm.’

The small smirk that adorned Emma’s pale features were still etched there as she trekked through the kitchen, towards the fridge. The door gave way with a simple tug and Emma found herself staring at the contents, unsure if she was even in the mood to eat anymore.

After their confrontation with the leshen they had combed the area in search of any other magical activity, but the tear in the barrier had been closed all by itself, as it did when  Lady Luck  decided to smile upon them. Of course, they had turned up with nothing and hours had gone by without amounting to anything productive.

It made Emma wonder if she had been willing to admit sooner that she had failed in her job, then she would have gotten back to Jefferson much sooner. Perhaps she could even have prevented his death.

The fridge slammed closed with a  thud , the appliance shaking from the force. It nearly made Emma jump, her eyes locking onto Regina’s. She must have asked something, or called out to Emma, and when the witcher failed to respond she took matters into her own hands.

‘What?’ Emma asked.

‘I asked how it went?’ The sorceress pulled her lips into a thin line, displeased by having to repeat herself a second time. ‘You left abruptly without telling us anything. I had to put Henry to bed myself.’

Emma raised an eyebrow, hoping it looked as teasing as she meant it, ‘You’re complaining,  _ your majesty _ ? I thought you liked spending alone time with Henry?’

‘Miss Swan, do I strike you as someone who is in a jesting mood?’

The blonde supposed she was pushing her luck. She had left without eating and she had barely uttered a shred of information. All she had stared was that she was heading to a crime scene and that they shouldn’t wait up.

She stepped back, making some small sense of space between them, and leaned back against the fridge. Crossing her arms over her chest, she released a labored sigh.

‘There’s been a murder.’

If Regina was shocked, she didn’t portray it. Instead, her already fragile temper flared, a vein bulging in her neck and for a moment all Emma can assume was that the sorceress was going to scold her for incompetence, but that never happened.

‘A murder? In  _ my  _ town?’

‘It was bound to happen at  some  point. Statistically speaking, the odds were quite high given how many "reformed" villains live in this town.’

‘I’m not interested in statistics, Miss Swan.’ Regina scowled, her hands balling into fists. ‘I’m interested in the facts, and the fact is someone had the audacity to make a fool out of me.’

Emma scoffed, ‘Not everything is about  you , y'know? The only real person who had been harmed in this situation is the victim and their loved ones. And before you even go on your rampage about how no one can accuse you of this, I already know. Unless you’ve figured out a spell to be in two places at once, you can relax.’

‘Well, thank you for so graciously clearing my name, Miss Swan,’ retorted Regina. ‘So, who’s the poor soul who has the unfortunate fate of meeting with the gods this evening?’

‘Jefferson. His daughter found him in his study.’

Regina had grown quiet now and it left Emma feeling uneasy. She could take a yelling Regina in stride, she could handle a difficult Regina with her eyes closed, but whenever Regina ceased speaking, Emma was out of her element.

A look of what Emma would label as sympathy crossed over Regina’s face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, only a softness remaining behind.

‘I’m sorry,’ she offered. ‘I know you and Jefferson knew each other.’

‘Yeah, well, there’s nothing either of us could have done,’ groused Emma. ‘What’s done is done. All that matters now is finding the bastard who did this to him and make them pay.’

‘What about his daughter, Paige? Does she have anywhere to go—someone to look after her?’

‘The social worker placed her with her cursed family. It’s a far better option than sticking her with the Lost Boys. I’m pretty sure they would have only made the situation worse than it already is.’

Regina turned her head in the direction of the foyer, almost self-aware that their son could appear in the doorway with groggy eyes and mushed bed-hair, questioning why Paige would be needed to place with someone else at all.

‘Oh, what are we going to tell Henry?’ asked Regina, directing the question more to herself than to Emma. ‘He’ll be crushed.’

The witcher opted not to answer, her gaze never faltering from Regina’s soft frame. For a moment she admired the woman’s beauty, her genuine love and concern for their son. It made the gods-awful day that Emma had been forced to experience a little better, providing her with the comfort that they were going to tell Henry this terrible reality together.

When Regina offered her some apple cider, Emma found herself grateful she didn’t need to drive anywhere. The sorceress had said it was because they’ve both had a long day, but Emma knew it was because she simply wanted the company.

It wasn’t easy swallowing the thought of robbers, murderers and powerful sorceresses or sorcerers were running around town, and it sure as hell wasn't easy doing it alone.

They drank their respective ciders in silent, Regina posed on the couch whilst Emma had slumped into the recliner; a proper ending to a day filled with exhaustion and pain.

‘Sorry your day was spoiled,’ muttered Emma, leaning even farther back against her seat. ‘I know you like it when you have time to yourself. It must be exhausting; staring into my ugly mug every damn day.’

Regina snorted, ‘Not as much as it used to be, I’ll give you that. You’re slightly more mature now.’

‘Only  _ slightly _ ?’

‘That, in itself, is a miracle, Miss Swan.’

A beat past, the sorceress' finger tapping against her glass.

‘Who do you think is idiotic enough to pull one over us? The robbery, the spell, now Jefferson’s murder? Coincidences in this town is improbable.’

‘You think they’re connected?’ Emma raised an eyebrow.

‘Don’t you?’

She did actually. It wasn’t a coincidence that her tome went missing on the exact same day someone thought it was a good idea to cast spells, causing tears in the frail barrier. It wasn’t a coincidence that Jefferson was killed just a few hours after he had called the station.

‘I have something to tell you.’ Emma sighed as she leaned forward, setting her glass down onto the coffee table. ‘When they broke in here, they didn’t just steal my clothes and armor. They stole my witcher tome, too.’

Regina floors the blonde with a murderous look, ‘And you didn’t think to mention this... because?’

‘I thought I could take care of it myself,’ Emma shrugged.

‘I don’t know whether to call you an imbecile or incompetent.’ The sorceress now resumed her tapping, morphing her look into one of complete displeasure. ‘Why didn’t you go through greater lengths of protecting something as dangerous as that?’

‘As hard as it may be to believe,’ Emma managed through gritted teeth. ‘I did go through quite the lengths to protect that damned thing. Whoever stole it is skilled at magic and knows how to work around it. They obliterated some of my strongest runes, and trust me when I say, they’re not cheap.’

A huff escaped through Regina’s nose and Emma imagined if it were possible there would be smoke coming out of her nostrils.

‘I don’t like this,’ she announced, perplexed and annoyed, staring intently at the white yellow liquid bubbling in her grasp. ‘There’s too many variables, too much we don’t yet know and with each passing moment there is someone out there gathering power; gathering the resources for what could very well be a  _ coup d'état _ . Normally I would be all for it. I would be lying if I said the thought of prying this town’s leadership from the  Charming’s  meaty hands didn’t amuse me, but circumstances have changed.’

Emma didn’t comment on this, knowing Regina was only musing aloud. She couldn’t blame the woman’s train of thought either. She knew too well what townsfolk put Regina through, seeing how they put her through it too just for what she was capable of now.

No wonder Regina had such a cynical outlook on life.

Regina looked up from her drink, locking her orbs of brown with Emma’s intense amber. She seemed to pause for a moment, her eyes darting lower to Emma’s still bloody shirt, but if she had an opinion on the matter, she didn’t voice it.

‘Though, I suppose we won’t solve the world’s problems sitting here and drinking, now, will we?’

The witcher shook her head. ‘I suppose we won’t.’

If they stayed another half hour, staring at one another in complete silence for the sake of not feeling the aching pain of loneliness in their chests; especially after today, neither of them thought there was a need to bring it up.

* * *

It was nearly a full week of complaints, meetings and arguing with the town’s socialites and yet it felt as though it had been a year.

The thief had made off with Emma’s clothes, Jefferson’s murderer still ran amok, and white male privilege was still a thing, but at the very least the magical part of Storybrooke was quiet. In a total of six days Emma hadn’t needed to abruptly leave in the middle of the night nor had she returned home covered in blood that wasn’t just her own.

Unfortunately, despite all of this, the town’s simpletons were still adamant on holding their annual ball; by curtesy of Snow White and various other princesses, of course.

The thought made Regina sneer. They should be finding a way to put a stop to this madness, not party like a bunch of spoiled royals. So, on this bright and beautiful Friday morning, Regina was pouring herself into her work like she always did, feeling utterly useless that Emma still hadn’t entered her office in dire need of help.

It was an ongoing investigation, the witcher said. I can’t tell you anything, the witcher insisted. Calling everyday this week does make it seem like you’re worried about me, the witcher mocked.

It was more like she was worried Emma would be helpless without her, which in her mindset she was. She still couldn’t file a simple _"Breaking & Entering"_ under P for _"Property Damage"_ nor could she be bothered to  read  over her work.

Some things never changed.

Regina was about halfway through the sixth file of the day when Nancy, her assistant, spoke through the intercom.

‘ _Madame Mayor._ ’

It wasn’t uncommon for the meek girl to choose this option of communication rather than step into the office in case Regina was busy, but the brunette had explicitly expressed that she didn’t want to be disturbed.

Regina glared down at the offending device, wondering if she could cause it to miraculously combust with purely the power of her thoughts.

A growl escaped the sorceress and she practically rammed her finger through the intercom, ‘Yes, Miss Teschmacker?’

‘ _ Mr. Irons is here to see you. _ ’ By the tone of her voice, the  again  went without saying.

It nearly brought a smile to Regina’s lips; the thought of Nancy being annoyed with the businessman. The girl willingly worked for her of all people and she didn’t even flinch when Regina would go off on her for no reason of her own making. However, any amusement or pride was swept away at the thought of the pompously arrogant man.

‘Very well,’ relented Regina. ‘Send him in.’

As much as Regina wanted to put the annoying man off for as long as she could, he would only continue to show up unannounced.

His persistency irked her.

She had barely shut the file on her desk before the man stormed into her office. The man’s green orbs flared with anger; his canines bared as his feet stomped on the floor in his spurred fury. If it wasn’t for his mane of raven hair that looked like he stuck his finger into an electric plug, then Regina might have felt threatened by his mannerism.

‘How  dare  you?!’ bellowed Irons, slapping aside one of the chairs placed in front of the desk. It went skidding across the floor and then slammed into the wall. ‘Do you have  any  idea what it cost me to set up this deal? The time I’ve put in?’

A blank expression made it way onto Regina’s face and she took a breath to calm herself. ‘You’ll have to refresh my memory, Irons. I can’t seem to recall what I’ve done to warrant you storming in here and kicking my furniture around like some child throwing a temper tantrum.’

‘You know very well what you did!’ He snapped, grinding his teeth together. ‘Gold and I had a had an agreement.’

‘Well, there’s your problem,’ hummed Regina. She rose to her feet, authority dripping off her slim figure. ‘ You  and  Gold  had an agreement. Not  you  and  me. I’m of no part in stealing the properties of good hard-working people who bring money into this community and I certainly won’t standby idly and watch you take the deeds to the Portside without going through the proper channels.’

Irons snarled, the scar over his left eye crinkling as he clenched his fists. He then growled, the sound close resembling that of a lion’s, as he paced back and forth.

‘Oh, I should have known you’d suddenly feel the urge to step in,’ scoffed Irons. He stopped in his tracks, turning towards Regina. ‘Ever since that  _ furball  _ has returned you’ve gone soft. You don’t maim anyone, you don’t drag them to the stake, you—’

‘Leave my son out of this,  Scar .’

Irons narrowed his green eyes as he advanced on the sorceress. ‘I wasn’t talking about the boy. I was talking about the witcher.’

The statement caused Regina’s eyes to widen momentarily, but she hurriedly schooled her features, keeping her expression dangerously blank.

‘Do you enjoy it then?’ prodded Irons, trying to drag a rise out of the mayor. ‘Spreading your legs for  the Savior  like every common whore in this pile of rubble. I bet Emma Swan is rather proud that she’s reduced the once proud and powerful  Evil Queen  to nothing but a begging, fumbling mess of a hormonal teenager.’

The flash of simply flicking her wrist and sending the arrogant businessman flying out the window was tempting. Perhaps maiming  him  would be more enjoyable than the task had been in the past. Or she should allow his end to be drawn out like it had been in the movie; eaten by hyenas.

Instead of lowering herself to his level, she simply reached for the intercom, keeping her eyes locked with Irons.

‘Miss Teschmacker, I believe that Mr. Irons have overstayed his welcome.’

A laugh escaped the man, his canines shining in the morning light.

‘ _Shall I inform Sheriff Swan of the situation_? ’ inquired Nancy, her tone far more pleased than it should have been.

‘That won’t be necessary.’ The lion straightened himself, smoothing over some of the wrinkles in his suit, then dragged a hand through his wild mane. ‘I’ll show myself out.’

‘He’ll find the way on his own,’ Regina spoke into the intercom. Then, to Irons, ‘Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,’ Regina warned wryly, watching as Irons marched himself out of the office and then slamming the door so hard the glass shattered on impact.

A sigh escaped Regina as she brought her hand up to her temple, hoping if she rubbed there as hard as she could the migraine that had already began to form would somehow dissipate.

* * *

Emma swung Leroy’s cell door open, casually leaning against it as she prepared for the onslaught of insults the man no doubt had prepared for her on that bright Thursday morning. It was a common occurrence; arresting him for public intoxication and in the morning trading their respective blows below the belt.

It wasn’t like she lived to serve and protect their town—like she was literally their savior. None of that accounted for anything the moment she began to undergo mutations.

‘I expect your best behavior tomorrow, Leroy,’ stated Emma, forcing a cocky smirk to grace her lips. ‘We all know that drinking and parties have never been a good combination when it comes to you.’

The dwarf smiled sarcastically, shoving his hands into his pockets as he rose off his designated cot, ‘If it makes you better, I’ll limit myself to about ten beers.’

Emma raised an eyebrow, not impressed by the compromise; even if he always did empty out about a twenty-bottle limit.

‘Okay, maybe five. Four.  Three  beers,’ he sneered in frustration. ‘But that’s it, sister. I can’t go any lower than that.’

‘I guess I’ll have to settle for that,’ she sighed. ‘Now put on a smile and stay out of trouble for the rest of the day. I won’t be surprise if you suffer from liver failure by the time you’re 210.’

‘That’s ten years from now. Plenty of time until then.’ The dwarf snorted and then spat into the nearest dustbin as he walked past Emma.

At least it wasn’t on  me  this time .

Watching briefly as the man left, Emma turned towards the deputy standing next to her. Will held out the report she had asked for about a week prior, but it was better late than never receiving it.

‘You give 'em to much leeway,’ grumbled the former thief, narrowing his eyes in the direction Leroy had disappeared. ‘If I were you, I’d sent the lot to go and fuck themselves. Not one of those blokes deserves ya, Boss.’

‘Thanks, Scarlet,’ said Emma, patting her disgruntled employee’s shoulder.

Her gaze shifted to Ruby, who was still seated in front of the computer. When Emma had first arrived at the station, she had been too focused on getting their residential, alcohol-reeking drunk out of mind and out of sight. She couldn’t have noticed Ruby’s disgruntlement even with her superior skills of observation.

When a growl escaped the wolf and she delivered a few swift bangs onto the piece of junk, Emma made a mental note of allocating their budget appropriately in order to upgrade the station’s hardware.

‘Anything on our murderer or the thief, Rubes?’

‘Nothing worth bragging about, but I might have something interesting,’ the wolf shared, looking up at Emma. ‘One of the Lost Boys—Latchboy—has gone missing. The convent is in a frenzy to find the kid. Mother Superior is running the sisters aground trying to find him.’

Emma pulled her mouth into a thin line, ‘And they didn’t think of filing a Missing Person’s report?’

‘No.’ Ruby rolled her eyes, clearly thinking along similar lines as Emma. ‘I only managed to drag this out of Astrid when I saw her in the grocery store this morning; she looked paler than a sheet of paper.’

‘Yeah,’ Milah piped up from where she stood by the copy machine, a distasteful look painting her features. ‘Apparently, losing the lad does not go so well with public relations. After the incident involving their pixie dust and causing the hobgoblin epidemic to escalate, townsfolk’s belief in them have been rattled.’

Emma looked between her deputies, crossing her arms over her chest, ‘So where are we on finding the kid? He must know something if he’s decided to disappear into the wind.’

Ruby sighed, sharing a look with Milah. ‘We’re working on it, but no one’s seen him since he took off on you last Saturday, and the Lost Boys are keeping their mouths shut tighter than Granny keeps the cash register.’

‘Of course, they are,’ she grunted. ‘Keep me updated.’

‘Will do, boss-lady.’ Will smiled charmingly before he walked back to his desk.

Emma turned and began to make her way to her office, already looking over one of Will’s many overdue paperwork. Those files tended to be written when Will was piss drunk and often involved a lot of insults towards Regina. If Emma didn’t carefully, and thoroughly vet them it was all their asses on the line.

* * *

Emma’s brows furrowed together, rereading the same sentence again and again. It’s been half an hour now and she still can’t shake the odd feeling that bloomed in the pit of her stomach as she read over what had been called a "disturbance" out in the woods.

She could barely even make out what Will wrote, but what she gathered was that Michael Tillman had made a call to the Sheriff’s department about a week ago that he heard flute music playing some distance from their family’s campsite.

A druid, perhaps? Maybe even a nymph.

Sirens were more drawn to the shorelines than they were likely to venture into the woods. They preferred caves and the deep, dark and murky waters of the ocean.

Even though Emma trusted her own judgement, she still felt weary. They had been fortunate so far, given that there hadn’t been another fissure in nearly a week, but their luck had never lasted so long. She was growing restless to say the least.

‘Hey, Will?’

The deputy looked up from his work, glancing sideways before he forced himself out of his chair. His feet dragged across the floor in a  slish-slosh  rhythm before he lazily leaned against her office’s door.

‘Aye, Sheriff?’

‘About your report on last week’s disturbance call—’

‘I gave it to you this morning,’ he pointed out needlessly, pointing towards the file in her hand. Then, he raised an eyebrow. ‘Is there something wrong with it?’

Emma shook her head, mindlessly scratching the scar on her cheek, ‘It’s actually more coherent than usual and it doesn’t look like you had more than three beers, so thank you—’

‘Well, you’re welcome,’ Will said with a lopsided grin.

‘What I want to know is what Tillman saw in the woods,’ she looked up from the paperwork, locking her amber eyes with Will’s brown ones. ‘He said he heard strange flute music; spooky even?’

The deputy bobbed his head, ‘Wolfie and I went to investigate, but we couldn’t find anything. You know 'em druids. Shy lot they are.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Emma, tapping her finger on the desk. ‘Druids usually play cheerful music, something upbeat and relaxing. Tillman’s witness statement says that it was ominous— terrifying .’

‘You want to make that our main priority, Boss?’ asked Will, sarcasm dripping from his rich, Irish voice. ‘Gods forbid, we can’t have some fool playing ominous  flute  music at the arse-crack of dawn, now, can we?’

‘Itching to get fired, Scarlet?’ she narrowed her eyes at the former thief.

‘No, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.’ His smile contradicted his sincerity, but Emma didn’t push the matter.

‘Then, get back to work,’ Emma huffed, tossing aside the report and then reached for the next. ‘I don’t pay you to stand around gaping at me.’

‘You got it.’ Will turned, still sporting a silly grin, and returned to his desk.

He was surprisingly a good deputy and he worked harder than any of the others just to prove his worth. However, he often did certain things just for the sake of getting on his boss' nerves—like giving in his incident reports a week later after Emma had asked him to restart it.

To be honest though, Emma would rather take his attitude and slack any day over letting Regina read those reports before vetting them.

The blonde didn’t get too far with the rest of the work after Will left her in peace. The rasp she heard on her glass door made her look up to where Ruby stood. Her deputy-sheriff took this as an invitation to step deeper into the office.

‘Are you taking anyone to the ball tomorrow?’

‘I’m not  going to the ball tomorrow.’ Emma dropped her pen as if to emphasize her point. ‘I’m going to continue working Jefferson’s case—go over his old files, see if I can’t find us another lead.’

Ruby raised an eyebrow, ‘You’d rather sit here at your desk, alone and miserable, than spend an evening out with the excuse to drink?’

‘As hard as it may be for you to comprehend, yes,’ the witcher said. ‘The ball is just an opportunity for the socialites to wave around their wealth and an excuse for those suffering from poverty to spend an obscene amount of money to try and compete. I also don’t dance.’

‘I sense a story there.’ Ruby perched herself at the edge of Emma’s desk, her long legs kicking at the air.

‘Oh, yeah,’ deadpanned Emma. ‘It’s called_ the Tale of Nanja_ .’

‘What’s that?’

‘Nanja business, Rubes. Get back to work.’

Ever the persistent one, Ruby stands her ground, refusing to let the matter go, ‘Come on, Emma. Don’t you think it’ll be fun? Regina’s going to be there.’

‘And why is that supposed to persuade me?’ Emma turned her attention to the rest of the files she had been neglecting since the dawn of time. Her dyslexia reminded her that witcher mutations doesn’t enhance  every  aspect of herself. As a thought struck her, she looked up from her paperwork, ‘Wait, are you saying you think there’s something between us?’

‘Well, if the shoe fits...’

‘I’m going to stop you right there.’ Emma’s tone halted the wolf from opening her mouth again. ‘First of all, Regina _hates my guts_. Second, Regina  _ hates my guts _ . She barely tolerated me before my mutations, what do you think she thinks of me now?’

‘Somewhere between "Fuck you" and "I’d fuck you".’

Emma levels her with a contemptuous look, ‘Ruby, I’m not doing this with you.’

‘Oh, Em, listen to Aunty Red,’ Ruby gave an exasperated sigh as though arguing with Emma on the matter was draining her of all her energy. ‘You’re always going on about how much you hate the town’s bigoted opinions and how they’re a bunch of hypocritical morons. Why don’t you do what you always do and ignore what these assholes think of you; ask Regina out on a date.’

‘We’re talking about the same Regina, right? The one who’d probably set me on fire if I tried to hold her hand.’

‘So, you admit the idea is at least a little tempting?’

‘The only thing I’m tempted to do is give you a double shift.’

The wolf clicked her tongue, hopping off the desk. Knowing not when to push her luck any further, she saunters towards the exit, but not before muttering a low, ‘The least you could do is think about it. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t be so grumpy if you actually got some.’

Emma watched her friend as she walked towards her desk, a smug extra swing to her hips as though she knew she had made an impression on the witcher. The sad part was that Ruby had a point. When was the last time Emma considered herself? Everything she did, she did for the for the sake of the town, her family, her friends; even when some of them decided she wasn’t good enough to be their savior anymore.

The witcher shook her head, forcing her attention back to the task at hand. Emma couldn’t allow herself to explore those aesthetically pleasing thoughts  and  somehow be able to look Regina in the eyes when she returned home.

* * *

Pongo wondered how long it would take Emma or either one of the other law enforcers to find him this time around. They often took turns when his master would call to their aid and it was all dependent on the current mood of his human friends.

It had been enjoyable, exploring the length of the vast woodlands. His nose would sniffle on the new residents scattered across the area or he would inspect a newly sprouted plant, steering clear when he remembered he doesn’t have nine lives like his mortal enemies.

The hours ticked by and he had begun to wonder if he shouldn’t just return home and put Archie out of his misery. However, as the thought crossed his mind, he noticed movement in the distance. At first, he had been intrigued, his curiosity getting the better of him, but soon his self-preservation won out. Carefully, he maneuvered his black spotted fur in between the long grass and there he lay in wait.

Two boys zigzagged through the tree line, one floating in the air as the other carried a duffle bag. Pongo’s certain that he hasn’t seen either of them, even with the new boys that had arrived with Emma some months ago.

No, their clothes were ragged, and they look as though they were up to something rather than just out for an afternoon stroll.

He watches as the boy floating several feet above the ground, directing vaguely in the small clearing as he spoke. The other one, the shorter and less confident one, simply pulls out what seem to be a white shirt moments before a tear opens in between the fabrics of the feeble barrier.

Pongo’s head rose, a soft, curious sound escaping him as he watches the scene unfold.

The second boy held the shirt up, as though prodding whomever awaited on the other side to hurry along. A hand—shadowy and pitch black, its fingers long and claw—reached out from within the fissure and accepts the article of clothing.

A shiver ran down Pongo’s spine and before he could be spotted or witness anymore, he bolted with his tail tuck safely in between his legs.

This town just managed to get weirder and weirder.


	5. Save the Last Dance

‘What’s with all the teddy bears?’ 

Emma looked over her shoulder, diverting her attention between the microwave and where her son stood in front of the cardboard box on the kitchen table. He was frowning at the contents inside, reaching for one of the "toys" to gain a better look.

‘Hey, hey!’ The witcher whirled around and gave him a pointed look. ‘_Don’t. Touch_. They’re not toys.’

Henry raised an eyebrow, a look of "That’s a pack of lies" flashing over his features.

‘They’re stuffed animals, Emma.’

‘And you’ll _be _stuffed if you don’t leave them alone. They’re used in summonings, kid. They’re dangerous.’

As ridiculous as it may have sounded, those stuffed animals _were _and _are _dangerous. Summoning and containing demons and spirits were no easy or simple task, and those enchanted objects came in handy once or twice. They were also extremely rare and expensive, and after the thief had made off with her "rainy-day" stash she wasn’t buying anything soon.

Jefferson’s case was much harder than Emma had anticipated it to be and she wasn’t certain when she was going to need some extra help from _the other side_.

Henry pouted but moved away from the box and towards one of the kitchen tables. Out of the corner of Emma’s eye, she finally noticed the tux that Regina’s forced their son into. No doubt she wanted him to look his best for the _Annual Storybrooke Ball_. It was a simple outfit; a black waist coat, a white buttoned shirt and a pair of black trousers to complete the look. His tie was still undone, and Emma knew it was probably because he didn’t know _how _to wield it properly.

The loud beeping noise of the microwave was what drew Emma’s attention back to the leftovers she had begun to heat up. As much as she enjoyed Regina’s cooking it almost managed to make her a little bitter that she had to work while Henry and Regina would be spending a nice evening out. Neither of them had restarted any form of a social life after Neverland. Neither of them left the house at all if it wasn’t for work or school, and the occasional grocery run. A small part of Emma wanted to be a part of that.

The witcher retrieved the chicken inside the appliance before her daydreaming would allow her to forget about it. She could feel her stomach rumbling as she took a large chunk out of the drumstick, setting the plate and the rest of her food down on the counter.

‘You ready for tonight?’ said Emma, deciding on a short chat before she would head off on her own busy evening of "fun".

‘No.’

Emma raised an eyebrow, ‘_"No"?_ What do you mean "No"?’

‘It’s stupid,’ deadpanned Henry. ‘They play music that isn’t even from the 19th century, the food sucks and everyone knows how to dance.’

‘And you don’t?’

Henry shook his head, dropping his chin into his hands. ‘Mom used to take me for lessons, but I have two left feet. I’m supposed to dance with her tonight, 'cause I’m her date, but I’m just going to embarrass her.’

‘I could show you.’ Emma tore another piece of meat from the chicken bone. ‘If you’re up for it that is.’

A skeptical look passed over her son’s features. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. From how it looked, he didn’t seem to trust the gift that had dropped into his lap, most likely he had been expecting it to be a trick; a trojan horse.

‘You would?’

‘I’m a little rusty,’ she shrugged, ‘but decent enough to make sure you won’t step on Regina’s toes.’

Henry hopped off the chair and made his way around the counter. He looked up at Emma, waiting patiently for her to set aside her meal and lick her fingers clean. 

Emma couldn’t have helped the small smile that made its way onto her lips even if she had tried. She thought back to the children in the Enchanted Forest and their eagerness to learn the dances of old. There had been few balls held, but in the villages that Emma and Mary Margaret had visited there would always be the stomping of feet and the strumming of lutes.

‘So, when you dance with a _lady_, especially one like your mom, you gotta bow, like this...’ She bent low; her left hand placed on her chest, her right arm extended backwards and her left foot placed outwards—one of the few things Mary Margaret had managed to drill into her head when addressing royalty. ‘It’s supposed to symbolize... uh... respect, I think?’

‘You _think_ or you _know_? What if it just makes me look stupid?’

‘Then, you look stupid with class,’ Emma stated through gritted teeth. ‘Now pay attention.’

Henry puffed out his cheeks but didn’t object any further. His brows furrowed in determination as he tried to follow Emma’s lead, taking a bow forward. Unlike when Emma had failed spectacularly at her first try all those years ago, Henry had a certain flare for these things that Emma significantly lacked.

She led him through the one basic dance appropriate for his age and the company at the evening’s ball; extending their palms out so they pressed firmly against each other, moving in one fluid circle before changing sides.

For someone who claimed to have two left feet, Henry appeared to be as graceful as a gazelle, easily changing momentum when Emma showed him how to pull his dance partner closer, now flush against each other as they moved. Despite not having had any music to move to, Emma could hear the drums and lute clear as day, picking up speed as they chortled together.

‘Henry are you—?’

Regina’s sudden interruption made Emma lose her focus and caused her to knock the box with with stuffed animals off the kitchen table. They spilled all over the floor and Emma’s blissful and carefree smile turned into a scowl.

‘Oops,’ Henry piped up, looking out from behind Emma at the mess they’ve made.

Regina glanced between Emma and their son, piecing together what they had been doing until the point she had entered the kitchen. Though it was an accident, a guilty look flashed over the sorceress' features as though she blamed herself for ruining their fun. 

‘Well,’ Emma looked down at Henry. ‘I guess that’ll have to do for tonight. I have to get to work.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?’ Henry asked for what must have been the seventh time that day alone. ‘It could be fun.’

‘I’m sure,’ nodded Emma. Then, she inclined her head out of the kitchen, ‘Go on and grab your coat. Your mom wants to leave.’

Henry hesitated but bolted out of the kitchen to do as he was told, leaving Emma and Regina alone in each other’s presence.

A sigh escaped Emma as she bent down and begun retrieving the contents of her box. Regina did the same, her gaze following the witcher’s movements. When they were finished, Regina handed the cardboard over to Emma, granting her a special glance of the navy-blue dress that hugged her soft features. 

It wasn’t new; worn by Madame Mayor at various other town events in the past, but that didn’t mean that it hadn’t caused Emma’s eyes to yank back up to Regina’s, making a point to stare intently into her chocolate orbs. Emma was certain if it had been ten years ago, she would have been beet red.

‘I thought you said you couldn’t dance?’ Regina’s voice seemed huskier than usual, her beautifully red painted lips drawing into a thin line as she traded off the teddy bears, though that didn’t mean her tone lacked any of its usual condescending manner.

‘I said that I _don’t _dance. Not that I couldn’t.’

Emma plopped the box back down on the counter, aware of the way Regina’s heels clicked on the floor as the woman moved with her. She had still been attaching one of her rather expensive earrings.

‘We’ll be back around ten,’ informed Regina. ‘Henry managed to persuade me to stay out an additional hour just for the sake of missing his bedtime.’

The witcher rolled her eyes at that piece of information. The kid thought it was a stupid event and thought wholeheartedly that he was going to embarrass his mother but trust him to still want to stay up on a school night.

‘I might not be home until much later.’ Emma crossed her arms over her chest, counting all of the additional files they had retrieved from Jefferson’s; all his financial statements and various other bits and pieces of his life that now could hold little meaning. ‘I asked Henry to keep an eye on Paige. Her family thought it would be a good idea if she could pretend for one night her whole world didn’t fall apart.’

‘So soon?’ Regina frowned.

Emma shrugged, ‘I’m not really the person you should ask. My history with grief is... _trying _at best. I’ve never really been able to handle it well.’

The sorceress looked as though she wanted to press the matter, but she fell silent and allowed Emma her secrecy. She turned her attention towards the stuffed animals and raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

‘And this?’ she inquired in a tone that told Emma her dark sense of humor was going to come flooding back into the conversation. ‘Planning on having a tea-party? Aren’t we a little old for that?’

‘Very funny,’ huffed Emma, narrowing her eyes at Regina. ‘With how fragile the barrier between worlds are, it’s only a matter of time before we’re going to need a little extra help. I just like to be prepared.’

‘Yes, well, don’t do anything stupid without consulting me first,’ Regina clipped at her. ‘The last thing I need you to do now is release hell on earth. That puts a bit of a dud in my plan of seeing Henry graduate high school, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Why are you so prickly tonight?’ said Emma, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘More than usual, I mean.’

‘Let’s just say I loath attending these things. They’re nothing more than an excuse for the socialites to sell off their virgin daughters and the commoners to get blind, stinkingly drunk and make lewd passes at those _strictly_ out of their league.’

The way Regina said it had Emma thinking there was more to the story. By going on her own experience of Cora, the witcher could tell that Regina had been forced to attend many of such events throughout her childhood. The thought made her blood fester and boil, causing her to glance away from Regina just so the woman wouldn’t be able to see the intense emotions that swam in her eyes.

‘I also don’t enjoy seeing your mother prance about with that boy toy of hers following her around like a lost puppy,’ added Regina, clicking her tongue.

‘You oughta have more than two sentence conversations with my mother,’ the witcher chuckled. ‘She’s changed a bit from the hopeful, mewling kitten image you still carry around in your head.’

The comment regarding her parents’ relationship and how there was a little more than "trouble in paradise" died on her lips. She might enjoy her and Regina’s duels of wit and how the woman manage to put Emma into her place, but she wasn’t a masochist. The blade of having David barely even greet her in the morning was shoved into her gut and was still ever present.

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ A predatory grin spread out on the sorceress’ features. ‘It’s much more amusing to see if she can still scramble around like a headless chicken at my behest.’

Emma opened her mouth to say something, but she cut herself off when Henry called out from the foyer, his tone filled with impatience: 

‘Mom, we’re going to be late!’

Regina rolled her eyes at their son’s theatrics but pushed away from the kitchen counter. She laid a hand on Emma’s shoulder, her chocolate orbs softening if only a small ration.

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Miss Swan,’ she warned, squeezing the cloth beneath her touch ever so slightly. ‘I’m sure its only a matter of time before you find whoever did this.’ 

Then, her eyes darted down to Emma’s attire; specially made by Cruella De Vil herself in rush order. It consisted of a white linen shirt, leather straps crisscrossing over her chest and a pair of black leather trousers—something like what Emma had worn before.

‘And I’m sure the thief couldn’t have gotten too far with your... _undergarments_.’

Emma huffed, ‘You’re enjoying this far too much.’

‘What can I say? I’m a sadist.’ The sorceress offered Emma one last squeeze before she turned and left.

The troublesome thoughts that had plagued Emma before Regina entered the room returned with full force and the witcher could feel the loss of her presence immediately. She leaned back against the kitchen counter and deflated sadly, listening to the sound of Regina’s Mercedez leaving the driveway. 

She was alone again.

* * *

It was the sudden drop in the station’s temperature that Emma noticed first. The cold didn’t affect her much since her mutations, but she could tell the difference from average room temperature to the sudden drop where her breath was now visible. Small particles of frost even crept up the glass, drawing patterns that vaguely resembled snowflakes and pine trees.

She had left for the office about an hour after Henry and Regina, not wanting the former to stumble across some of the more gruesome files regarding Jefferson. Emma was certain the boy had been scarred for enough lifetimes and didn’t need another reason to go to therapy, so working at the station was a better option than dragging such gory details home.

The witcher could feel her medallion trembling, the bauble sensing the presence of a magical entity. Her keen eyes darted around the room and she wished that the only light source wasn’t the one currently sitting at her—

The lamp on her desk frizzled and then exploded. 

So much for _that_.

Emma rose to her feet with the utmost caution, retrieving the silver blade from beside her desk and releasing it from its scabbard. She heard a scattering somewhere in the darkness and she waited a moment for her eyes to adjust. Seeing the the dark was difficult for most humans, but for a witcher it was child’s play.

The witcher clenched her jaw, stepping out from behind her table and stepping into the darkness of the station. Her eyes scanned across the desks, assessing every item, every piece of furniture in her field of vision. Nothing seemed to be out of place, but she knew better than to go on the sake of appearances.

Countless of beasts and other monstrosities had died by Emma’s blade, but the times she had fallen into fear were few and spread out a far in between. However, Emma could feel it silently creeping up on her now, the shadows dancing in her vision and laughing at whatever fate awaited her next.

She was certain she heard the ominous violin music playing in the background.

The blow to her ribs came seemingly out of nowhere and before Emma could even register the pain she crashed into Will’s desk, sending piles of newly done paperwork scattering on the floor. Her sword landed with a clatter on the floor, the sound ringing in her ears as she gasped for breath. She attempted to push herself off the furniture, gather her bearings and return to what could be a fight for her life, but she felt something yank on her boot covered ankle. The force of which it was done was enough to send her directly into the cell bars face first.

As a child, Emma has taken countless of beatings, some out of provocation while others were what she defined as "uncalled for". However, what happened then was far worse than what the leshen had done to her nearly a week ago.

Her deputies were never going to let her live that one down.

‘Come out, you cowardly bastard!’ she taunted, snarling as she scrambled uselessly to her feet. She drew her hunting knife and squinted through the blood running down her forehead and into her eyes. ‘I ain’t got all night!’

A laugh filled the air, sending a shrill down her spine. It was a husky and thick sound that reminded Emma of the darkest depths of a cavern underneath the ocean.

Demons weren’t uncommon, but at times they were rare unless summoned. It didn’t matter if the barriers between worlds were fragile because it was just too much of a coincidence to come face to face with an entity of evil incarnate just days after her Witcher tome had been stolen.

Emma’s hunting knife flew from her grasp and she was shoved harshly against the cell bars, something pushing against her face so that her cheek would press up against the cool metal. She snarled, a quick one-two grunt escaping through her nostrils. It hadn’t mattered how much she struggled against the unknown force; her brute strength seemed no match for this creature.

The creature that appeared before Emma were one that inspired common tales passed from mothers to their bairn to ensure they didn’t wander too far into the woods or to ensure that they ate all of their vegetables. It wasn’t uncommon for children to sing about ghouls, hags and wraiths, even more so for them to sing about creatures with silvery tongues.

She thrashed in pain when she felt something burn on the left side of her face; the demon’s marking. It was no doubt his way of pointing her out as his next victim or a way to draw energy from her body even if he didn’t possess her.

Two beady eyes, resembling that of fire and brimstone, stared back at Emma. The rest of the specter was wrapped in darkness, its skin a pale grayish color. It didn’t look much older than what Emma expected David to be; just another reason why her skin felt as though something was crawling underneath it.

‘You are a fragile thing... You and your kind dissolve so easily...’ It sounded as though its voice were millions of people’s put together, dripping with contempt. 

It grinned at Emma, a horrifying expression that would have caused lesser men and woman to cower in fear. Especially when they saw the dried blood etched onto the creature’s coned teeth. Its breath even held the fragrance of rotting flesh.

‘Not as easily as you think!’ Emma snapped at the demon and found the strength to move her hand just right, flush against the demon’s chest. A spark of flame spilled from her fingertips and sent the creature back a few paces. It bought her just enough time to get in telepathic blast, sending the demon crashing into Will’s desk and splitting it in half.

Great. He’ll think that had been on purpose.

The traitorous voice in the back of her head couldn’t help itself and asked, _Wasn’t it?_

Emma rushed forward, diving knees first onto the tiled floor and slid across to where her sword lay discarded. She turned to face the demon, but the moment she looked up there was no sign of him anywhere.

The witcher’s medallion had stopped trembling, too.

‘...Ah, crap.’

* * *

It irked her, watching self-proclaimed noblemen and women dance to their hearts content, and the limited time she had spent with Henry had done little to sooth her seething rage.

Regina had never enjoyed balls given the amount her mother had forced her to attend and that dislike festered into hatred because of Leopold. He had always wanted to dance with his darling daughter rather than his wife and even if she preferred it that way, she wasn’t allowed to dance with anyone else.

Though, even as she stared with a blank expression, seated at her table in pure boredom and lonesomeness, she couldn’t help but envy the simpletons that twirled and frolicked about. She loved dancing, loved the freedom of the movements and the way it had made her heart flutter. Some of her favorite memories of Daniel was when they swayed together in the stables to no tune at all.

Regina loathed to say that she wished Emma had elected to come with. At the very least she would have had _someone _to converse with—Henry off to gods-knows where with his friends. The witcher had somehow grown on her on the past few months and she didn’t mind her presence as much. 

Dare she say it, she even enjoyed it.

Emma had been more quiet than usual. She retreated to her meditations and potion brewing and even when she was with them at the table for a shared meal, she was millions of miles away.

The music stopped, Regina noticed, and it caused her to turn to where Ruby and a collection of misfits stood on the makeshift stage. The wolf motioned something to them, a cue perhaps, and then the music started up again.

Regina will begrudgingly admit that Snow had done a wonderful job of decorating the Town Hall for the evening. Somehow it seemed less cliché than previous years and it didn’t make Regina want to gouge her eyes out with a spoon. That would provide the meddling bird-talker with at least ten points in her books.

Then again, that would only place her at minus four hundred.

Surprisingly, after throwing together such a magical evening, the raven-haired woman couldn’t even manage to muster up the decency to offer her husband a single dance. He had been seated at their table, frowning at the same half-empty glass of wine since the evening had started.

Trouble in paradise, perhaps?

‘He looks a little sad, doesn’t he?’

Regina turned her head towards the familiar voice, coming eye-to-eye with Emma as she plopped herself into the chair next to the sorceress. A smile played on her lips that looked a little less like the witcher she knew.

‘I thought you had work?’ she inquired, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

‘And leave you all alone on such a beautiful evening?’ Emma scoffed. ‘I shudder at the thought.’

The sorceress took an appreciative glance at the witcher’s tailored clothing—a dark gray overcoat with a grayish silk shirt and a pair of trousers that matched the coat. It complimented her aura wonderfully and Regina had to cross her legs over one another.

The witcher looked positively... _yummy_.

‘You look... _dashing,_’ Regina breathed out, raking her eyes back up to amber ones.

‘Thank you. You’re... _dazzling_.’

The compliment through her for a loop and by the smug look that graced Emma’s features, she knew the witcher could see the blush spreading across her chest.

She reached for her wine glass and sipped the red liquid slowly. Emma’s eyes darted down to her lips, watching as she consumed every last drop of alcohol. The witcher said nothing, but Regina recognized foreplay even before the tension began to build up.

They were teetering on dangerous grounds and she couldn’t bring herself to care.

‘Care to dance?’ Emma held her hand out towards Regina. ‘These assholes need to be nudged down a few pegs.’

‘And _you _think you’re capable of such an endeavor? This is much more different than galloping about the kitchen with our son, Miss Swan. Here, you could actually be slapped for stepping on toes.’

‘I know,’ the witcher’s smug grin never slipped from her lips. ‘I’m willing to take that risk. The question is whether you are?’

‘Spare me, Miss Swan. I’m always up for the challenged.’

Regina set her glass down on the table and reached for Emma’s hand. She knew instantly that something was off. The witcher’s hand wasn’t warm and it didn’t feel like being wrapped in a blanket of security, it was cold, and she instantly thought of her mother’s harshness.

The sexual tension between them vanished instantly and Regina could feel bile and panic rise in her throat. Whomever this person in front of her was, it wasn’t Emma. An ache began to form in her chest at the thought of harm having befallen the witcher, but she couldn’t dwell on _what if’s_. Especially not when her son and all the people inside the hall relied on her now for safety.

This version of Emma led them to the middle of the dance floor, and even it was charmingly graceful. It managed to maneuver between the other dancers easily and Regina wondered if the real one was capable of such a feat. 

Regina felt herself pulled uncomfortably close, breast against breast. The creature mustn’t have noticed her subtle change and she commended herself for being an excellent actress. It obscured its face from her, lips pressed firmly next to her ear as it breathed in and out. Regina barely managed to repress a shudder.

She needed a plan and she needed one fast.

‘Did you discover in those files what you had been looking for, or was it simply a ruse for you to sneak away?’

The fake Emma shrugged, ‘Nothing useful. Nothing worth my time.’ Its lips curved against the shell of Regina’s ear. ‘I thought my time would be more... well spent here.’

Regina rolled her eyes.

Had this thing honestly thought it had been convincing her?

‘Perhaps,’ she replied coyly. ‘That depends on how you’re going to use it.’

The sorceress noticed Snow out of the corner of her eye, the woman looking curiously in their direction even amidst conversation with a group of women. She didn’t seem appalled, but Regina wouldn’t put anything past the woman.

And she thought she would get off scot free that evening.

If _her majesty _had noticed the two of them on the dance floor than surely several others had as well. The repercussions could be disastrous, and Regina hadn’t even had the pleasure of dancing with the real Emma Swan.

Oh, the gods must hate her.

‘I think I’ve found the solution our... predicament.’ The sorceress pulled back slightly, inches away from the Emma’s lips and their noses nearly touching. ‘An evening stroll might just be what we both need.’

Its eyes sparkled with something that made Regina nearly pull back and smack it cleanly across its beautiful features. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek and behaved herself, awaiting the opportune moment.

The creature stopped dancing and placed a respectable amount of distance between them.

‘Lead the way.’

Unable to help her, Regina intertwined her fingers with the creatures, wishing that the cold would drain from its lifeless fingers and Emma would smile back awkwardly at her.

Regina felt eyes boring into her as they walked off the dance floor and she was certain this Emma could, too. Under different circumstances, she would have smirked with pride, flaunting exactly what she would do to their pilgrim of light. However, that wasn’t Emma and circumstances would never be any different.

The sorceress felt her heart pounding in her chest, wracking her mind for the appropriate spell to deal with the imposter. She didn’t know exactly how powerful the creature was, but if it could cast a shapeshifting spell so powerful that it nearly fooled her, then she was certain that it had a decent amount of skill in the magical arts.

It hadn’t been long before they finally made it through the crowd and out of the front door. Regina took a deep breath of fresh air, feeling her magic tingling at the tips of her fingers in anticipation.

‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ Regina inquired, staring up at the star-spangled sky. ‘Romantic, even.’

‘Mm-hmm,’ the fake Emma hummed, its eyes never leaving Regina’s tanned features. It stepped in front of her, once again crowding her personal space. ‘Certainly is lovely.’

Regina took a step backward, trying to place some distance between them, but the creature was adamant and met the challenge in kind by taking a step forward. The sorceress moved her hands up, pressing firmly against the creature’s chest. She felt a blush spreading across her cheeks and she wondered how she was going to be able to look Emma in the eyes again.

Before Regina could stop the creature, it closed the small distance between them; lips meeting lips. She nearly melted, almost losing herself in the fantasy, but a whizzing sound filled her ears. The fake Emma pulled back, an inhuman sound spilling from its mouth as it whirled away from Regina. The sorceress could finally see what had caused such a reaction from the creature; a cross bolt.

‘How do you like that silver, you son of a bitch?’

Emma stood in the middle of the street, a ferocious look on her face, disheveled and a nasty burn mark on her left temple; a true force of nature to be reckoned with.

That would explain why the creature could resemble her so closely; an enchanted mark of a demon. 

The creature retrieved the bolt from in between its shoulder blades and declared mockingly, ‘The lost sheep returns to the flock.’ A sickly grin spread out on features that should never have contorted in such a way. ‘No one ever leaves behind the darkness.’

A growl escaped Regina, ‘That’s quite enough of your nonsense.’

A ball of fire lit in her palm and she narrowed her eyes.

Neither of them could react. The demon barreled into Regina, sending her tumbling onto the ground and then bolted back towards the town hall—towards most of Storybrooke’s citizens and Henry.

‘What the hell were you doing?’ snapped Emma as she yanked Regina to her feet. ‘Making kissy faces with a demon wearing my face?’

‘Whatever your thinking, stop.’ The sorceress wiped the dirt off her hands, hissing when the scrapes on her flesh touched the material of her dress. ‘I was merely attempting to distract the creature so you could have a clear shot.’

The witcher chuckled, shaking her head. ‘You forget, I can always tell when you’re lying through your teeth. Dare I say it, your nose seems to have grown an inch.’

‘Oh, please,’ Regina rolled her eyes. ‘Need I remind you that while we are dilly dallying out here there is a demon in there with our—’

Screams of terror cut off the sorceress’ sharp tongue. Emma reloaded her crossbow and then tossed a teddybear towards Regina.

‘You know how to do this?’

‘Keep up the jests, witcher, and we shall see who receives a cross bolt in their back next.’

* * *

Emma unceremoniously lit her pipe and dropped down into one of the few remaining chairs in the hall the moment the possessed teddybear fell to the ground, seemingly as harmless as ever.

She took note of the destruction around them—Will passed out on top of a shattered table, Milah walking towards Ruby while carrying two bottles of beer by their necks and handing one to the wolf, David was nowhere to be seen, most likely having been the one to evacuate the facility and ensure that all those "heroes" didn’t try and run back in. 

And then there was Mulan.

She didn’t even look like she had just faced off against a creature from the depths of Tartarus. She was simply leaning against one of the still standing walls, arms crossed over her chest and brooding over a lost love that she wouldn’t even tell Emma about, no matter how many beers she had in her. Though, Emma wasn’t a complete imbecile. She had seen the forlorn looks the woman had sent Aurora’s way in the past.

‘I think we did okay,’ Emma mumbled, breathing out a breath of smoke.

A ceiling lamp decided that was the appropriate moment to sizzle, sparks of electricity flying everywhere before it fell to the ground. It shattered on impact, causing Emma to slowly turn around to where it now lay.

Well, no one was perfect.

Emma saw Regina approaching out of the corner of her eye and lifted another discarded chair, dusting off the worst of the debris from their battle. The look of exhaustion on the sorceress’ features told Emma that the woman was utterly spent. She was missing her heels as well and the witcher couldn’t imagine it would sit well with her when she found out.

‘I hadn’t known you smoked,’ she stated by lieu of a greeting, plopping herself down in the chair Emma had prepared. She held her hand out for the pipe and the blonde didn’t hesitate to give it. ‘And I certainly hadn’t thought you’d be partial to a pipe.’

The witcher shrugged, ‘A terrible habit I picked up as a kid. I stopped, of course, when I had Henry. Then, I switched to the pipe during my "sabbatical" with Mary Margaret. I haven’t touched it since we came back, but I thought it was an appropriate time for a few victory puffs.’

‘Oh?’ Regina took a long pull from the item and then blew out a perfect ‘o’ shape. ‘What are we celebrating? Getting our asses handed to us by a low-level demon or the new "souvenir" permanently attached to your face?’ 

‘Neither,’ retorted Emma, taking the pipe from the the sorceress. ‘Whoever took my witcher tome is getting sloppy. That demon was littered with residue from the spell used to summon it.’

Regina’s eyes widened in shock, ‘Can we track it?’

‘No, unfortunately not, but it’s only a matter of time before this asshole fucks up again. And when they do, we’re going to be there to stop them.’

The sorceress pursed her lips and remained silent. She wasn’t happy that they had literally nothing to work with and she clearly had set her heart of being the Harbinger of Death for the poor sod foolish enough to pull one over her. 

‘So, uh, are we going to talk about that lip-locking session you and—’

‘No.’

‘So, we’re just going to completely ignore—’

‘Yes.’

Emma sighed and brought her pipe back to her mouth. Just before her lips could touch it, Regina waved her hand in spitefulness. The pipe and Emma’s only coping mechanism disappearing.

Emma glowered, ‘What was that for?’

‘Many of things,’ she responded coyly, refusing to meet Emma’s gaze. ‘The first one being I want to dance with someone who doesn’t smell like they just stepped out of Tartarus.’

The witcher nearly choked on her spit at the other woman’s words. ‘You want to do what now?’

‘Did I stutter? I said I’d like you to have the last dance of the evening. Then we can see what your idiot of a mother is doing to our poor boy.’

Emma’s gaze shifted to her deputies, who still looked like they had been hit by a train. They were going to have to dispose of the possessed teddybear soon, too. Though Emma would be lying if she said she didn’t like how the idea sounded; firmly pressed up against Regina, their breaths mingling together—

‘Mixing with the commoners, are we?’ Emma teased, her lips curving upwards in a small smile. ‘Think of the rumors, Madame Mayor.’

‘I find it best to cut those off at the source,’ Regina sniped back, rising to her feet. ‘So, I’ll be taking your tongue when I’ve had my fill of you.’

Emma grinned, ‘Lead the way.’

The sorceress nearly tripped over herself at the statement, but before Emma could frown at her, she growled, ‘Just once, you’d opt to take the initiative.’

‘Would you even let me?’

Regina’s red lips formed a coy smile and she placed her hand onto her hip, ‘It would depend on the situation, Miss Swan.’

The witcher wasn’t ashamed to admit she followed Regina like an eager puppy.

* * *

Getting your ass kicked, sending said ass-kickee back to hell, cleaning up one of the biggest messes since that Frost Giant had strolled onto Main street a little over two months ago, took a lot out of a person.

After three days of trying to uselessly find their way around the summoner’s cloaking spell, Emma took her first sick day in what was ten years.

Witcher’s didn’t get sick, their mutations boosted their immune systems so that they were well protected against any illness. However, that didn’t mean Emma could have a day off from being Sheriff/Witcher.

Damn, she was getting to old for her job.

The smell of pasta cooking on the stove overwhelmed Emma’s senses and she could feel her stomach grumbling. She was certain that it would taste just as good as it smelled, and she commended herself for a job well done.

Thank you, Mary Margaret.

She had been a terrible cook before Storybrooke, and she blamed it on her days as a bounty hunter. Having an appreciation of food did not help you when you had to stay out till at least two in the morning for a stake out. Noodles and potstickers were your very best friend.

‘So, Mother Superior is _not _happy that the Lost Boys were moved to _Rose Garden Orphanage._’ Ruby munched on a grilled cheese Emma had set out in front of her, most of her attention focused on that rather than her best friend. ‘Gisselle, however, is pretty pleased with herself given the grant Regina awarded her.’

‘Yeah, well, her holy-stick-up-her-ass-ness is the one who _lost _Latchboy,’ groused Emma, stirring her pasta with a fiery passion. ‘She’s lucky all we’re doing is putting a stop to that little "rehabilitation" project. They’re kids, for the gods' sake, not charity cases.’

‘Yeah, I think it’ll be better in the long run, too. The nuns... they’re not exactly _nurturing_, you know?’

That was an understatement. Blue had been the one who told David and Snow to shove their only kid into a wardrobe and ship her off to Maine. The witcher wasn’t necessarily excited about the existence of the fae convent.

Emma glanced towards the digital clock on the microwave. Henry and Regina would be home soon and the witcher’s certain they must both be starving after their busy day. 

The witcher turned off the stove and popped the pot’s lid back on before turning around to face her friend. ‘You think they’re gonna be more trouble than usual now that we publicly embarrassed them?’

‘Let’s just say, if Regina wasn’t mayor, that bitch would be gunning to get your thrown out of office.’

‘Of course.’ 

The sound of a key sliding into the front door caught the law-enforcers’ attention. Ruby leapt off her chair as though it were her cue and grabbed the other half of her sandwich. She stuffed it into her mouth in one rapid movement then grabbed her plate off the counter and made for the dishwasher.

It must still be freshly burnt into her mind the last time Regina had caught her _not _putting her dirty plate away.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, boss,’ said Ruby, clicking the machine’s door shut with a bump of her hip. ‘And I’ll call if we need you to come in.’ 

‘What? No “Thank you for feeding me”?’

The wolf shrugged, scrunching up her nose. ‘Granny’s is still the best.’

Emma flipped the bird the same moment Regina stepped into the kitchen, a scowl settling on her features instantly.

‘Miss Swan,’ she scolded. Then, almost in a bored manner, her eyes glanced down to the mail in her hands. ‘I am required to remind you whose house you are currently live in. For free.’

Next to Regina, Ruby stuck her tongue out playfully, out of vision of the brunette. ‘Hey, Regina.’

‘Yes, hello, Miss Lucas.’ The sorceress barely even looked up as the wolf passed her and most likely barely even registered the sound of the front door slamming shut. ‘Remind me again why I allowed this town to have "junkmail"?’

‘Probably because you didn’t know it was a thing and your magic is just that good.’

Regina hummed her approval, ‘Compliments? What have you done this time, Miss Swan?’

The witcher shrugged her shoulders, ‘Nothing. I made lunch though.’

This drew Regina’s attention from the mail and for the first time she finally looked at Emma. She sniffed the air and then moaned in appreciation. The sound sent shivers down Emma’s spine, and she had to cross her arms over her chest, as though making a knot to remind herself not to be a pervy jackass.

‘Oh, and what a treat. If it tastes half as good as it smells I’ll be taking breaks from preparing meals in the foreseeable future.’

‘Don’t kid yourself. You love cooking.’

The sorceress smiled coyly, ‘True.’ Then she held up an envelope. ‘This is yours. "Fanmail", I presume.’

‘Ha!’ Emma barked out, grasping onto the letter. ‘That’d be the day. Mothers still hide their children from me as I pass down the street.’

The witcher unsheathed her hunting knife, then tore open the side of the envelope. Inside she retrieved a small card. Typewritten.

She went over it. Once. Twice. Then a third time.

Regina raised an eyebrow at the confused look spreading out over the witcher’s features. ‘What does it say?’

‘Who the fuck is "P"?’ Emma’s irked voice asked rhetorically, handing the card to Regina.

**Well done, Mistress Witcher.**

**That was a lot of fun wasn’t it? Us demons are a little tricky, aren’t we?**

**My favorite part was when it rammed your face into the cell bars.**

**—P**

**P.S. Thank you for the gold. It’ll come in handy. **

**P.P.S. Let’s have a little fun, shall we?**


	6. The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up

‘Rubes, quit staring.’

Emma looked up from the file in her hand at the deputy standing by the murder board they had rolled into her office. Ruby flinched guiltily and her head darted back to what she had been writing.

‘Sorry, Em,’ she offered forlornly. 

A sigh escaped Emma and she slammed one of many utterly useless folders back down onto her desk. 

Nothing stood out; nothing bounced up and down to announce even an insignificant lead. 

On paper, Jefferson was a substantial, well-liked member of their society. He had few friends, and they all couldn’t understand what kind of trouble he had gotten himself into or what he knew that could warrant killing.

Yet, someone _did_, and Emma was doing a piss poor job of finding out _who_.

The typewritten message had been a dead end, like all leads seemed to be nowadays. No fingerprints, no scent; nothing. Whoever had been toying with Emma and the sheriff’s department knew exactly what they were doing, and they were damn good at it. Even sloppy mistakes were covered up.

It was by accident that Emma caught her reflection in the glass of her compass upon flipping it open. She had been initially planning to catch a glimpse of her memento inside, but for once the small painting of Regina Mills was obscured by the horrible image staring back at her.

The magic of burn mark on the side of her pale features had yet to wear off. Even with the demon back where it remained, magic in Storybrooke was unpredictable on its best day, so there was no telling when or if it would finally fade. For now, she was stuck looking like someone had rammed her head onto a hot stove.

The worst part was that Regina couldn’t help even if she had wanted to. Witchcraft was one thing, but Demoncraft was an entirely different subject all together. The sorceress might have been power hungry enough in the past to learn dark magic from Rumplestiltskin, but certainly not so greedy as to educate herself so deeply in the forbidden arts.

‘Hey, Em, you okay?’

Emma snapped her compass shut in an instant, certain that the glass would have shattered had it not been enchanted. She felt the familiar rise in temperature creep up her neck, but she shook herself out of it.

The last thing she needed was a big-mouthed best friend yammering on about the only item Emma gave a damn about.

‘The mark on my face—is it noticeable? Hard on the eyes?’ 

Emma could tell she had floored the wolf by the small amount vulnerability that showed on her face—a soft, almost pained expression. Though Ruby didn’t indicate as much. She simply blinked and then proceeded to answer the first answer that came to mind:

‘A bit, but you shouldn’t let it bother you. Chicks dig scars.’

The witcher huffed, that not having been the answer that she had wanted. She was use to people staring at her, muttering awful words underneath their breaths, but it felt different now. It was also a reminder that she still hadn’t managed to catch the monster responsible for these events. What good did her experience and skill do her when there was not a single thing to show for it?

She lifted her eyes to their "murder board", as Will referred to it with far more fondness than he should. The only lead they currently had was Latchboy, who had seemingly disappeared without a trace. Even Emma, essentially the greatest tracker amongst the citizens of Storybrooke, next to Ruby, couldn’t even turn over a single stone. What left Emma uneasy was that Latchboy disappeared the same day that Jefferson had been murdered.

Ruby stepped closer to Emma, keep both the blonde and their board in view. ‘What does Regina say about it?’ 

‘Ancient symbols. Can’t break them. Not her problem,’ muttered Emma, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Ruby snorted, ‘She actually said that? Thank the gods she doesn’t have the hots for me. She just might have skinned me and then reimbursed me with my _own _fur-coat.’

‘You know how she is. One moment I think we’re friends the next I’m sleeping outside because I smell like the walking dead.’

‘She... She actually made you sleep outside?’

‘I came home covered in drowner blood, sewage dripping from my hair, contaminating her precious rugs with my filth—what do _you _think she did? Drew me a warm bath?’

‘Touché.’

Emma cracked a small smile, then forced her eyes back to their board. ‘All joking aside, you gonna explain to me why members of the _Outsider _gang are on here?’

‘Oh, well, remember I went out for drinks this weekend with Belle?’

Emma raised an eyebrow. She remembered quite clearly the last conversation she had heard about Storybrooke’s residential bookworm and it had all been spouted from an emotionally spent (and drunk) Ruby as Emma dragged her home from the Rabbit Hole.

‘As in _Belle _Belle?’

‘We’re not having this conversation again,’ deadpanned Ruby, then she continued, ‘I overheard some talk between known members of the gang, and while they’re _technically _under surveillance it’s all definitely legal.’

Emma made a blank face, ‘Eavesdropping is legal, hmm?’ 

‘I did some digging and it turns out these three—’ Ruby motioned to the tree mugshots—"Rita" "Tito" and "Einstein", ‘were _coincidentally _passing through Mifflin street on the day the thief poached your panties. They work for _Merry Men Pizza _as delivery guys and gal.’

‘Let me guess—they’re each substantial citizens that attend every Sunday Mass?’

Ruby chuckled, ‘Bingo! Assault, breaking and entering, public intoxication, vandalism—they’re something all right. I also heard from a reliable source that they’re working for Irons Real Estate & Shipping—manual labor or some shit.’

Emma stiffened almost immediately, ‘Irons? _Jeremy _Irons?’

‘Yup,’ Ruby nodded, ignoring the way the witcher’s eyes seem to darken a tad. ‘Irons has been buying up all the businesses at the docks—Storybrooke Cannery, Storybrooke Shipyard, etcetera. The only places he couldn’t buy so far are Eric’s fishing company and a few smaller businesses at the harbor. Rumor is that Regina shut the deal down hard.’

‘Of course,’ grunted Emma, narrowing her eyes. ‘Why wouldn’t Regina be in the middle of all this; little regard to her own damn safety, nor would she even think of telling me.’

Ruby’s eyes widened, but she wouldn’t dare making a comment. The deputies were experienced when it came to handling Emma and often it required them to keep their damned mouths shut. Especially when it came to Regina.

‘I’m gonna drop by the pizza place when I head out to lunch; talk to Robin about his employees of the month.’ Ruby turned, heading for the exit.

‘Why not go now?’ 

‘Because the three stooges will be there. I don’t want to risk spooking them.’

‘Smart,’ agreed Emma. ‘I’ll head over to the mayor’s office and subpoena some of Irons files. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something worthwhile about these three. I have to head over for lunch with Regina anyways.’

If Ruby could have left boot skid marks on the marble floor, she would have. She whirled on Emma, eyes wider than saucers and wearing an expression that made the witcher think she had just ruptured an aneurysm.

‘You’re having lunch. With Regina.’

Emma didn’t like the suggestion in Ruby’s tone and she certainly wasn’t happy by the gossip the wolf would spread throughout the town. By the time it reached Regina, she would be made aware that they had gone on a date _and _had booked a suit in _Granny’s B&B_.

‘Yes,’ grunted Emma. ‘To talk. About business.’

‘What _kind _of business?’

‘None of _yours_,’ Emma gritted out through clenched teeth. ‘And if I hear a single word about it from the other deputies or anyone around town, then you can find yourself another job.’

Ruby gaped at her, ‘You’d actually fire me?’

‘Regina will fire_ball _you.’ Emma turned her head back towards the murder board, dismissing the conversation. ‘We really _are _going to discuss work. There’s still a town to run after all and she likes to have my input. So, just drop it, please?’

‘Fine, fine.’ Ruby held up her hands, feigning innocence. ‘I just hope I will be the first one you tell when the two of you finally stop lying to yourselves and start mixing _business _with _pleasure_. I’m not blind, you know. If a woman that’s supposed to be _an acquaintance_—or whatever the fuck you two are—looks at me like that, then we’d barely even reach the nearest bathroom.’

‘Gods!’ Emma threw her head backwards, trying not to think of an out-of-breath, flushed Regina Mills; sweat running down her forehead, eyes drawn back into her—The witcher growled, ‘Get out.’

Ruby’s snickering rung in Emma’s ears and made her grit her teeth. The image of skewering Ruby or the Wolf did little to quell the witcher’s burning annoyance, but it did make the throbbing go away. She just needed to think of that now every time she looked into Regina’s eyes.

Emma reached into her pocket, retrieving her compass once again. It clicked open and the purple glow the rune in the _Vegvisir_ brought a calm to her. A small smile graced her lips as her eyes raked over the small portrait tucked away in the lid.

Yeah, she needed to think of skewering Ruby all during lunch.

* * *

Latchboy grumbled to himself as he watched their alleged "salvation" stumble over his own to feet and land face first into the pavement. As if the gods wanted to add a dramatic effect, the boy’s mask skidded in the alleyway, the sound making Latchboy wince.

They were supposed to be in a hurry.

The alarm system wouldn’t keep quiet for ever and it had been hard enough to silence it. There was no telling how much time they would have before the whole Storybrooke Sheriff’s department came raining down on them. It should have been a substantial "Grab and Go", but it looked to Latchboy that he was babysitting instead of following the boy’s lead.

He moved from one foot to the other, shifting the weight of the stolen goods in his arms as he waited for his friend to pick himself off the ground. Somehow, Pan managed to slip his mask back on without allowing Latchboy even so much as a glimpse. His small hands clutched tightly onto his share of twinkies, ding dongs and potato chips.

This self-proclaimed version of Latchboy’s old leader was a skeptical fellow to say the least. He looked around seven or eight and had soft, golden locks accompanied with stripes of light blue, at least that’s what it looked like from the back. The sword that hung at his side looked far heavier than the boy should be carrying and Latchboy’s certain that if it wasn’t for the boy’s freakishly strange abilities, then he certainly wouldn’t even have been able to keep himself upright let alone lift the weapon high enough to swing.

He looked more like a child playing dress-up than the image he created in his mind, failing to live up to.

Usually, they would do their food runs during the night, but Pan was a cocky little bastard and enjoyed the thrill of nearly being caught. Somehow, he also knew the ongoings of every convenient store. Especially when and when Happy would flip around the sign:

**Back in 30 min. Gone mining.**

Ever since Latchboy had parted ways from the Lost Boys it had become increasingly difficult not running into them during night raids, too. He needed them to believe he had disappeared. At least according to little Pan.

‘It’s for your own good,’ reassured Pan. ‘Trust me when I say I know.’

Latchboy was forced to scale the chain-linked fence on his own, the woods just a few blocks ahead, while Pan simply teleports through with a simple spark of green and blue. To Latchboy it looked like the air around the boy swallowed him whole and then spat him out the other side.

It was hard to trust someone who wouldn’t even tell him something as simple as his name let alone how the hell, he had done that.

‘Listen, lad, I ain’t in the mood for any more of your riddles. Just tell me where you’re hauling me arse off today?’

‘Shh.’

They darted behind a parked car, waiting patiently for the opportune moment to dart across the street. Even secluded neighborhoods seemed awfully busy that day. Why—Latchboy hadn’t a clue, but he didn’t care much about the ongoings of Storybrooke.

Then, Pan zipped across the road, a tail of light green electricity following him. Again, Latchboy was left behind, scampering after the boy who didn’t even bother to wait for him. The strange kid just continued ahead, his sword creating small sparks as he walked, his black cloak dragging behind him.

Latchboy had a good mind to step on it.

‘Mama says it’s unbefitting of a gentleman to swear.’

He rolled his eyes. That wasn’t the first time he had heard of this _Mama_. Though, Latchboy doesn’t question him. Ever since the original Pan had been vanquished some of the other Lost Boys had picked up old habits their parents had instilled on them. They would mention how their Papa would read a book a certain way or how their Mama would show them how to color a certain way. Thud Butt was a much kinder and compassionate leader. He allowed those small changes within the group.

That said, Latchboy was definitely curious where the kid had come from. Surely Mistress Witcher would have noticed such magical power in the atmosphere? Why hadn’t she ever mentioned him? Latchboy was certain he has never once heard Emma ask after Pan. Or was it because the kid was just that powerful to hide his own magical signature?

‘Could you at least give me a hint?’

Pan stopped behind a dumpster, sparing a glance backwards. He shrugged his shoulders and Latchboy imagined that he could see some form of mischief dancing around in his eyes. Latchboy knew from experience the last time did not end so well. The last time he had let the kid convince him it was a good idea to nick Mistress Witcher’s undies.

‘You’re not coming with me,’ informed Pan, his voice suddenly far too serious for his high-pitched tone. ‘You’re heading back to the hideout.’

"Hideout" was too kind a word. _Hovel _in a sense came close. But the words "whole in the ground" were what stood out to him.

‘What do you mean I’m not coming with you?’ Latchboy nearly dropped his goodies as he frowned at Pan. ‘You’re like 6 and half me size. _And _you’re more trouble than you’re worth. Who’ll save your skinny arse if I’m not around?’

‘I’m eight and a half, and I’m any but defenseless. If I recall correctly, _you _were the one running around screaming like a little girl when that pack of gnomes descended.’

‘You swore we would never talk about that again!’ Latchboy tossed a twinky towards Pan and it hit him harmlessly on the side of his mask. ‘They _barfed toxic rainbows_!’

‘Yes, and you were truly helpful with your high-pitched noises. If I hadn’t shoved a sock into your mouth you just might have attracted a griffin, and then where would we be?’

‘Dead, probably,’ Latchboy muttered under his breath.

‘Precisely. So, please keep quiet.’

That was another thing that ticked off Latchboy. The original Peter Pan had always acted like a smartass and that sorry excuse of a predecessor seemed to be following in his footsteps. The only difference was that he was nice about it.

Blue and green sparks of electricity engulfed Pan and soon the two of them ended up in the next alleyway. Latchboy gulped down the bile rising in his throat and refused to look at the surely smirking Pan. The kid was lucky he had balls bigger than Mistress Witcher, or Latchboy would have punched him right in his smug face.

Pan handed off his share of stolen goods to Latchboy and he had no choice to accept them. He knew better than to question _why _little Pan wanted to do something. You might think that the boy was out of his element; in over his head, but he had an obscene amount of expertise _and _he had had to save Latchboy’s skin often. Especially after Latchboy had to sever all ties with his fellow rapscallions.

‘Wait for me,’ instructed Pan. ‘And leave my twinkies alone.’

‘No promises.’

Pan’s eyes narrowed inside of the mask and Latchboy assumed that it was the boy’s attempt at a glare.

He was just too fucking adorable.

‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours,’ he then continued, floating off the ground. ‘Try not to burn down our tree while I’m away.’

‘Are you going to tell me what this is about?’ Latchboy raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the concern from pouring into his voice. He failed miserably.

Pan shook his head, shoving his hands into his pants’ pockets. ‘No, it’s—’

‘"For my own good". Yeah, yeah,’ sighed Latchboy, glancing downwards. ‘Just don’t expect me to come and save your arse when you fuck some shit up.’

‘You know, for a twelve-year-old, you have one big potty mouth.’

Latchboy wanted to snap back, but it would only be counterproductive. He shrugged and then kicked at a stone. ‘Just go already. I’m pretty sure you’re already running late on your precious schedule.’

‘I am,’ confirmed Pan. He floated back a few paces, then informed in a hoarse voice, ‘I’ll be back,’ before taking off and leaving him alone in the alley.

He grunted, glaring at the smaller growing figure, ‘Yeah, until the day you’re not.’

* * *

‘Miss Swan, I want you.’

Emma blinked, looking up from her lunch. She wasn’t certain she heard correctly and by the look on Regina’s face that was definitely _out _of context.

Gods, what the actual fuck?

‘Um, what?’

‘I said, I want you to pay attention, Miss Swan,’ huffed Regina. ‘If I have to endure your mother’s silly notions of peace, prosperity and hope, then you must as well.’

Oh. Yeah. 

That made so much more sense.

‘Am I boring you, Miss Swan?’

How to answer that? Irking, certainly, Emma mused. Aggravating? From time to time. Vexing? Oh, hell yes. But _boring_? Regina and _boring _didn’t even belong in the same sentence let alone next to each other. The witcher tilted her head to the sighed as if to weigh which one of her responses were less likely to be met with a burst of verbal gasoline.

They were discussing the upcoming Harvest Festival as though Emma didn’t have better uses for her lunch hour. Emma’s had the unfortunate luck of attending three during her time in the Enchanted Forest. It made her ache for home and the people she thought she never would have seen again.

Not to mention, she _hated _feasts.

They mayor, not taking kindly to the drawn-out silence, narrowed her eyes and began to drum her fingers on the desk. ‘Careful, dear. From the looks of things, you might be close to spraining something. I wouldn’t want to call Doctor Whale and have him commit you, now, would I?’

Emma’s mind had been mush since her and Ruby’s conversation. Trust her best friend to leave dirty images of Mayor Mills in her mind right before they needed to sit down for a "civilized" meal. Ruby was so working the graveyard shift tonight.

Emma shrugged her shoulders, her fork dragging lazily through the pasta set out in her take-out container. ‘I thought it was a rhetorical question.’

‘I am going to regret asking this, but what seems to be ailing you today?’ The mayor’s clipped tone and flashing eyes paused as she considered Emma. You could even say that she genuinely wanted to know what was wrong with the blonde.

‘Nothing,’ grunted the witcher, setting her food back down on the desk. ‘I just thought... Never mind.’ She stood, her stomach grumbling from neglect, but she wasn’t hungry anymore. ‘I should be getting back to work.’

‘Miss Swan.’ Emma paused in her movements, her fingers inches away from the swords that leaned against Regina’s desk. ‘Sit. Please.’

The witcher sighed but did as she was told. 

Regina slammed shut the large binder laid out in front of her and she reached for the napkin tucked into her breasts, dabbing it softly on her lips. She then flung the offending item into the bin underneath the desk before she rose to her feet, her navy heels clicking on the ground as she rounded the distance between them.

It wasn’t a strange occurrence to see Storybrooke’s most highly strung resident seated on any flat surface, but that accompanied by Regina’s apple and lilac scented perfumes made Emma’s heart hammer as though she was facing off against a ghoul.

‘Perhaps discussing the color scheme of the Harvest Festival is counterproductive in helping you achieve a distraction.’ Regina leaned back, crossing her arms over her mid-section. ‘You’re awfully distracted today. Why?’

Emma opened her mouth.

‘And if you lie to me, you’re sleeping on the porch.’

Emma snapped her mouth shut faster than Henry right before he made the mistake of talking back.

The witcher wondered how and when they had become acquaintances who talked about things that bothered them. _And _shared lunch breaks for that matter. Emma remembered when they had both dreaded budget and council meetings, wanting to get out of each other presence as quickly as they could. At least, Emma knew Regina did.

‘Ruby’s just being more of an ass lately,’ reassured Emma. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

‘Yes, that’s why you’ve been pouting like a retriever since you set foot in this office,’ Regina pointed out helpfully. ‘There’s more to the story.’

At this point, Emma was praying for death. 

Like Henry, Regina knew just what buttons to push and what questions to ask to rile the blonde up. There was no possible way she could say what was actually going on in her mind, so she said what should have been going on in her mind.

‘Ruby has a lead.’

‘Oh?’ Regina raised an eyebrow. ‘And this is why I can’t get more than two coherent sentences from you?’

‘Well, yeah.’ Emma shrugged. ‘We’re investigating three gang members that has been working for _Irons Shipping & real estate_. Did you know the guy had been buying up businesses down by the harbor?’

Regina narrowed her eyes, already experience with people fishing for information, but she indulged Emma, ‘Yes, and to clarify, he wasn’t "purchasing" the properties, he was bullying people into signing their deeds over as well as making deals with Rumple. I put a stop to it.’

‘And you didn’t think it was something important to tell me?’ Emma gritted out.

‘Would you like me to hold your hand when I’m crossing the street as well?’ Regina waved her off. ‘I don’t need to tell you the finer details of my life. You’re not my mother and you’re certainly not my significant other.’

Emma rolled her eyes, ‘You know, confiding in you is really difficult when you say things like that.’

‘Well, I can’t change who I am. That would be like telling a fish to stop swimming or telling the sun to stop shining—both impossible tasks.’ Her smirk was entirely to smug and Emma hated the fact that she still found it endearing. 

‘Mm-hmm,’ Emma grunted. She rose to her feet, placing a calloused hand on the desk next to each of Regina’s hips. ‘I should have you arrested.’

‘On what charges, pray tell?’

Emma’s cat-like eyes narrowed at the brunette. ‘Stubbornness for one. I’m sure I can come up with more.’

‘Until you do,’ Regina paused, lifting Emma’s swords for her. ‘I suggest you keep on digging in a case that actually matters. I’ll accompany you.’

‘Oh? Where, exactly, are you _accompanying_ me to?’

‘You’re stuck,’ she pointed out bluntly. ‘A fresh set of eyes wouldn’t hurt and I’m curious as to where this lead of yours will go. If Irons had anything to do with this, then I want him nailed to the wall. Besides, it will take Nancy some time to find all of your subpoena’d files. Your predecessor also had a knack for miss filing.’

‘I only miss file things because the whole system is so complicated.’ Emma grabbed for her weapons, but Regina kept them out of reach.

‘Because labeling suspects as "Assholes" is not only offensive, but childish and unprofessional as well.’

‘Well, they _are _assholes.’

‘They aren’t on trial here, Miss Swan.’

‘Okay, okay, point taken.’ Emma tore her swords from Regina’s infuriatingly strong grip before realizing how incredibly close they were standing. It would take a mere forward movement for their lips to collide.

At the risk of allowing awkwardness to descend on them, Emma took a step back and effortlessly allowed a blank expression to settle over her. Regina slid off the desk, seemingly unfazed by Emma’s sudden need for personal space.

‘So,’ Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘You going to tell me where you’re dragging me, your majesty?’

A mischievous glint flicked within Regina’s brown orbs. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

* * *

The smell of cheap cologne and dust singed the hairs of Regina’s nostrils and she wondered if her sense of smell would ever return again. Though, any sense of jesting was pushed aside at the blood stains set in the wooden oak floors. She had never been fond of Jefferson or his unique choices in scents. His daughter, however, was a honorary student; top of her class. Not only did she have a bright future ahead of her, but she was kind and caring. She had also been good friends with Henry for a long time now.

Emma seemed far more affected by all the man’s death than Regina thought she should be. The moment they had stepped into the house, her shoulders had shagged, and she had begun to drag her feet across the floorboards. Even before she had become a witcher, Emma had bottled everything up. Regina hoped she had someone to talk to, because it certainly wasn’t her.

She caught Emma pausing by a cracked photo of Jefferson and Paige, each smiling broadly at the camera. Regina wondered who had taken it and it occurred to her that it might very well could have been the grumbling witcher frowning at the portrait. While most people had shied away from Emma during school events there were the oddballs that sought her out.

Like Jefferson and Paige. 

They continued to glide uselessly through the study and any hopes of finding anything new slowly dwindled into nothingness. As much as Regina accused the sheriff and her deputies of being imbecilic nitwits, they managed to gain results. They might barely even be capable of reading, but somehow, they did a thorough sweep of the crime scene, all without disturbing a single shred of evidence.

‘We’re not going to find anything,’ Emma said disheartened, leaning against the window frame. ‘Ruby and I—we’ve been in here a couple times and still haven’t found anything.’

‘Yes, well, no offense to Miss Lucas, but she has the attention span of a golden retriever,’ Regina drawled monotonously, paging through a book she had retrieved off the shelf. 

Emma looked at Regina, perplexed, ‘How was any of that _not _offensive?’

‘In a sense she _is _a slobbering mutt.’ The book snapped shut. ‘Would you rather have me call her a goldfish?’

‘I’d rather have you not insult my best friend, but...’

‘Miss Swan,’ Regina exhaled a tired breath, retrieving another book. ‘We can’t all have what we desire, now, can we? If that were so, then your head would have been on a spike the second you set foot in my town.’

‘And now I _live _with you,’ Emma smirked smugly. ‘What do you call that?’

‘Cruel irony, like my dependence on you playing buffer between your parents and I during Thanksgiving.’

Now that... _that _was the definition of a train wreck. 

David barely spoke to either of Emma or Regina. Henry couldn’t understand the sudden shift in the relationship between his grandparents and the chicken had been dry. The final nail in the coffin was when Emma said she was heading to the bathroom and Regina saw her clambering outside the window a moment later.

‘I don’t like Thanksgiving.’

‘You also don’t like underdone meats and portals, but at times we must overcome our discomforts, hmm?’

Emma smiled to herself at that statement, her gaze returning to stare aimlessly out of the window. It made Regina curious as to why the witcher would react like that. Perhaps she knew something that Regina didn’t, or thought of a crude remark she opted to keep to herself. Regina hated whenever Emma would wear such endearing expressions. She never knew what they meant or what was going through the witcher’s head.

A sigh escaped the brunette and she reached for another book.

‘Oh.’ Regina’s eyebrows rose. ‘This is interesting.’

‘What?’ Emma pushed away from the window and marched towards Regina. ‘What did you—?’ 

A sudden crack of lightning made Regina jump, colliding with Emma’s strong and steady form. The witcher wrapped her arms around her waist, keeping them from toppling over in the process. The wind blew against the windows, causing them to fly open with a loud crash and wolves howled in the distance.

Something was afoot.

‘Gods-damnit!’

Regina flinched, then hissed, dropping the book on the floor. From her hand all the way up her arm ancient markings burned into her skin. She gripped onto Emma, the witcher taking the abuse in stride without even so much as a peep.

‘Regina?’ Emma questioned tentatively, glancing around uncertainly. ‘What’s wrong?’

She reached for her, gently taking Regina’s injured hand. The witcher stilled, her eyes widening in shock.

_The mark of a demon._

Regina was utterly speechless. Had she not been holding onto Emma for dear life her knees would have given out and she would have collapsed.

The lights inside the mansion flickered and then blew one by one. Each time the glass shattered made Regina push herself up against Emma, cowering into the nape of her neck.

And then, like a never-ending nightmare, a deafening shriek made Regina shake in Emma’s firm touch.

Anything they had face before was child’s play. This was something else.


	7. The Unlikeliest of Saviors

They ran.

The forest whizzed passed them like an old black and white cartoon chase. In the darkness the trees gained a more sinister look; branches became arms and extended claw-like hands and odd, crooked shapes in the bark formed eyes and sharp ominous teeth. Wolves still howled and ravens fluttered over head, laughing at the eminent death that loomed in the sky.

Emma’s hold was firm. Regina’s hand was clammy and shaking, but the witcher kept the strong grip despite the building pressure around them.

The witcher’s movements had been honed, each one drilled into her vigorously throughout the years. She calculated each step, took in account each foot that gained them a minuscule amount of distance between themselves and their pursuer. If Emma even felt an amount of fear, she sure as hell didn’t show it on her face.

It was the consistent wailing of the dead that drove them forward; that kept then moving. The smell of Regina’s burnt flesh forced them ahead, knowing what the consequences would be if they even stopped for so much as a second.

They leaped of an overgrowth. Regina made a grunt of protest, but Emma ignored her and merely continued to drag her through the mud and sludge. She pushed herself up against Regina, enveloping the woman’s entire body with her long and heavy limbs. The witcher forced the woman’s back against the wall of the overgrowth and then tucked her face into the woman’s hair. Emma screwed her eyes shut and she could tell that Regina did the exact same thing; swallowing her pride.

The fury roared in confusion, racing over the small patch of earth. The smell of death and endless blackness lingered like a suffocating fog, coiling around their throats until it choked their very breathe from their lungs.

A shudder.

Then, a strained gasp.

Emma’s hold tightened on Regina and she somehow drew her even closer. The fury floated just outside their hiding place, trying to sense the presence of its victim. The witcher whispered a few words of Elven Speech and with her right hand she quickly drew a rune, _Quen_; a protective shield that would not only protect them from the brunt of a few would-be attacks, but it could also mask their scent. Regina’s scent.

At least in theory.

She felt like a child again; hopelessly pulling a blanket overhead to drown out the noise of foster parents’ yelling or whatever a foster father wanted to do to the eldest girl in the home. It was as if that blanket could drown out the horrible reality awaiting outside. As if it could keep them safe forever. As if it could keep Regina safe.

The fury released another high-pitched shriek, filling their surroundings with a grating screech of anger and frustration. They were only hindering they fury from its task. The shrill, menacing sound it made during its retreat was a promise of its inevitable return, and when it did...

There was no relief. Furies were demons sent by Hades himself to collect the unpaid price of magic. Regina had been marked by a wraith before and now someone has brought attention to this debt. 

When Emma saw Rumplestiltskin again, he would definitely not make it until the next day.

Emma’s lungs burned, constricted against her ribcage. She might be in the best condition possible and the mutations certainly didn’t hurt but running four miles through the woods with the gates of Tartarus snapping at your heel tended to drain a person. 

Regina was breathless, too. Even more so than the witcher. Her breast rose and fell against Emma’s, unable to move just yet in fear of the fury returning the moment they stepped out from their bubble of safety. 

The witcher sagged against the ground, rolling away from Regina, but kept her one arm underneath her head. She hoped it provided the comfort for the sorceress that it did for her.

‘What... the... actual... fuck?’ Emma grunted each word, her head thudding back against the cool mud of the overgrowth. ‘Five fucking days of normality... Is that too much to ask?’

‘In this town... yes,’ Regina murmured silently, her hand still clutching onto the hem of Emma’s leather armor. ‘It’ll... It’ll be back.’

‘Like I don’t know that,’ the witcher growled, pushing away from Regina to crawl out into the slightly breathable air.

She couldn’t provide comfort. Not now. There was far too much at stake and she needed to move; she needed to act. The time they had bought for themselves was not nearly enough and they would sooner be rotting in hell than scrape together anything remotely capable of defeating the demon.

The sound of Regina stepping out into the open filled Emma’s ears as she paced, and she couldn’t find it in her to look at the normally suave woman. Regina didn’t do fear. She was a strong, _powerful _person that always held the answers for situations that Emma couldn’t even begin to understand. Panicking was the _Charming’s _duty, and as they did it to their fullest potential Regina would step in and calmly take over.

Emma growled, clenching her muddy hands as her eyes flashed with anger.

‘What do we do?’ stated Emma through gritted teeth, hoping that voicing the rhetorical question aloud would spur her brain into awareness. ‘What _can _we do?’

‘Nothing.’

Emma stopped in her tracks, then she turned towards Regina.

Her cold, emotionless witcher heart shattered at how small the sorceress looked; her hair was a mess—just like Emma’s—mud exonerating her brown locks. It smeared across her tanned features, too. She looked... resigned. She looked like she had... _accepted _the fates cruelty. The look spread out across her face held one simple statement:

_I am going to die._

In theory, there was no escaping a fury. No spell, no cage, no demon teddybear could hold the creature. It was far more relentless than any wraith and even more cunning than the great Rumplestiltskin himself.

Emma, however, had never been fond of reading and she sure as hell was far more stubborn than any mule.

‘What do you mean we do nothing?’ 

The witcher marched forward and allowed pure, unadulterated rage to spread out across her features. She gripped onto Regina’s arms in a bruising grip and shoved her back against the lip of the undergrowth. The back of her knees collided with the obstacle and she would have fallen on her buttocks if it wasn’t for Emma’s brutish touch.

They both knew Emma wasn’t one to snap. Over the past ten years she had honed her emotions to the point where she was able to calmly assess any given situation or predicament. Now, she was volatile, unpredictable. She was allowing years of pent up emotions seep through the seems and take the wheel.

Somehow, Regina didn’t flinch at this sudden display of emotion. She stared at Emma with something that could be defined as understanding. 

It irked the witcher.

‘What do you mean we do _nothing_?!’ Emma persisted, bellowing her anger into the surrounding area. ‘So, help me gods, if you don’t answer me right fucking now—’

‘There’s nothing we _can _do,’ Regina answered monotonously, not even attempting to break from Emma’s hold. ‘There’s no way to stop it. My death is inevitable. If it has escaped your notice, we have no means of getting rid of this creature—no spells, no portals, no nothing. So, if you’ll kindly shut up and leave me to my fate, then you’ll see that we’ll be able to keep everyone, especially _Henry_, safe.’

‘Don’t talk to me like I don’t have my priorities straight!’ Emma snapped, slightly shaking the sorceress. ‘The fucking wraith, the trigger—It’s like you want to fucking die and the moment an opportunity arise you expect me to throw you under the bus. In your mind you can’t possibly see why a world without you in it would be a living hell!’

‘Then, enlighten me, witcher,’ indulged the sorceress, leaning forward menacingly. ‘_Why _would a world without me be so terrible? I’ve caused you nothing but pain and yet you still defend me like the White Knight you are. Even as a _freak _you still have to be _oh so _noble and deny me my dying wish.’

Emma reeled back like she had been slapped. The bitter word _freak _hung between them like an illness and for a moment it looked like Regina regretted her choice of phrase, yet her stubborness prevailed.

Yet, in truth, the witcher knew she was scared. She lashed out when she was, and she slammed up her defenses. 

Slowly, carefully, the witcher loosened her hold on Regina, her face contorting in pain and a gentleness that she had thought herself incapable of in quite some time. 

‘Insult me all you like, but you’re not going to die. You’re not leaving Henry alone with me. The way I see it he’ll barely live to see his fourteenth birthday. Not to mention, I’m not exactly warm and fuzzy, you know?’

The sorceress released a mocking laugh. 

‘Deflection—why am I not surprised?’ Regina wrenched herself out of Emma’s grasp. ‘Are you that uncharacteristically optimistic or just that daft? You and I both know the rational decision is to just allow the fury to take... me. There’s no point in arguing about this—we’re just wasting time.’

Regina attempted to turn away from Emma, but the witcher grabbed her by her cheeks. It caused the sorceress to go stock still at the touch of calloused hands and despite the blush that crept up Emma’s neck, she stood firm.

‘You’re _not _dying, because I actually like our banter and forlorn pining.’ Emma’s voice was calmer now, steady and strong. 

‘F—Forlorn... Forlorn pining?’ Regina sputtered incredulously. ‘What on earth gave you—’

Emma didn’t even give her a shred of curtesy to finish the question, ‘My point is, you’re not dying. You’re going to live a long and insufferable life with Henry. You’ll get to see him graduate middle school and high school and let him go off on dates after you abused your power as mayor to accumulate every nook and cranny of the chick’s life. You’re gonna meet a tall and dark stranger and be all lovely-dovey and some shit.’

Regina glared, ‘You don’t have an ounce of refinement in you, do you?’

‘What can I say?’ Emma shrugged, dropping her hands to her sides. ‘Mutant.’

Lightning flashed in the distance.

A hollow shriek filled the air followed by a tree collapsing in the direction of the gods-awful sound.

Emma reached for her silver sword, the grip of the hilt making her feel slightly in control of their situation. Even if it was an illusion. Her other hand gripped onto Regina’s, crushing the limb in a desperate, vice-like grip.

‘Let’s go.’

* * *

Regina gasped in horror when the fury swiped at Emma, nearly taking the witcher’s head off in the process. Were it not for the witcher’s instincts and reflexes, she was certain that it would have succeeded too. 

_One... two... three..._

The witcher flipped backwards, dodging another swipe of claws. Swiftly she lifted her sword just in time to block the brunt of the fury’s next attack. Emma then pushed it back with a telepathic blast, sending it a good few feet backwards.

_Twelve... thirteen... fourteen..._

The soul-sucker’s claw snagged Emma’s hair band and her gold-white locks of hair tumbled out of place. They spilled over her sweat-covered brow, falling in front of her eyes and momentarily obscuring her vision.

From where Regina stood, it didn’t look like it hindered the witcher from her task. It only spurred her further into action, her blood vibrating through her being as she moved and her eyes glowing with a ferocity to protect.

_Nineteen... Twenty... Twenty-one_

At that point, Regina wondered if she was even hindering the fury. Emma was dished close-calls and an acrobatic work-out that would leave her aching for a weak. The fact that the fury was going after Emma made Regina realize that the demon had realized the only way to get what it wanted was to go through Emma. 

The fury nicked Emma’s leather cladded shoulder but the only real damage inflicted was to the armor. She released another blast of telekinesis to place a comfortable amount of distance between herself and the fury.

_Forty-one... forty-two... forty-three_

Finally, the forty-fourth fireball gained the result she expected.

It soared through the air, striking the fury directly in its sickly grey face. The fury clutched at the wound inflicted, howling into the cold night air. The high-pitched shrill made Emma drop her sword and clutch at her ears, the sound no doubt causing her a world of pain. Before Regina could hurl another fireball at the monster, it made its daring escape. Its wailing echoed in the distance; a promise of its return and the vengeance it will have.

Regina sagged and before she collapsed on the ground, Emma’s knees collided with the dirt and gravel, skidding underneath her just in time. It had been a moment of exhaustion and fatigue, but the safety net Emma’s strong arms provided was too comfortable and reassuring to leave so soon. Though, the witcher needn’t know.

‘Hopefully that buys us more than five minutes,’ huffed Emma, shifting them into a better position on the ground. ‘Nice shot, by the way.’

‘Unfortunately, it won’t be nearly enough. We need to—’

‘A break won’t kill us, Regina. It’ll help prevent dying, in fact.’ The witcher glanced around vigilantly, her amber eyes darting to each suspiciously shaped shadow. ‘And if you tell me you’re fine, then I’ll have to point out the fact that your nose is bleeding.’

The sorceress touched a delicate finger to her upper lip. It wasn’t consistent, but a single trail of warm, red liquid ran down her skin. 

So much for not drawing from her life force.

They couldn’t keep running or fighting forever. Emma was fast, but even at her best there had been a few scrapes. She would grow tired and her movements would become sloppy, less precise. The moment that happened, Emma would be vulnerable to the fury’s merciless attacks.

‘This is hopeless,’ announced Regina, forcing her voice not to crack. ‘I’m not going to be able to regenerate enough magic to hold off another attack and your luck is bound to run out at some point.’

‘It’s not luck, it’s skill, and we’re doing fine—great, actually.’

‘Emma, be reasonable,’ she sighed, glaring up at the witcher, who wouldn’t even grant her the curtesy of a single glance. ‘It’s only a matter of time before blood gushes out of my ears as well. The only way that this ends is if—’

‘You say it and I’ll key your precious Mercedez.’

Regina lifted a hand to her temple to relieve herself from the forming headache, ‘You’re acting like a petulant child.’

‘You’re not dying and that’s final.’

It was like arguing with a brick wall, even more so that Emma rarely ever changed from her three most common expressions; a blank stare, a small and smug smirk, and her look of thorough bemusement. Other than that, it was difficult to rile the woman up like she had been able to in the beginning. Thus, no matter how hard Regina pushed or yelled or changed several shades of colors, Emma remained unyielding.

A cloud of silence settled between them and the resignation in Regina only managed to grow. Her thoughts went to Henry and like during the trigger she couldn’t help but wonder if he would be better off without her.

Regina swallowed, shifting from Emma’s touch into a seated position. The witcher didn’t protest, and she didn’t tear her gaze away from the woods and their surroundings either.

‘Miss Swan?’ she hated herself for the way her voice shook and the fact that her pinky finger had sought out Emma’s.

‘We’ve probably got another ten minutes, so you gotta make your last protest fast.’

‘Henry likes to write.’

This drew Emma’s attention to her. A curious frown passed over the witcher’s brow, but it disappeared just as quickly. ‘Um, okay?’

‘He’s talented and his pieces are very good, but at times his insecurities get the better of him. If he doesn’t publish in the near future, then I will take you to fault for not giving him more praise. Make certain that he never forgets how much he loves to write.’

Emma’s eyes narrowed, catching on to what Regina was doing.

Regina pushed forward, ‘My mother use to criticize every note that I belched and eventually I stopped singing. So, don’t you dare destroy the time and effort I put into giving my son the exact opposite childhood that I experienced.’

The witcher remained painfully silent, working her jaw tirelessly. A muscle jumped at the mention of Cora, but Regina thought nothing of it.

‘He is struggling with mathematics at the moment, but only because he doesn’t apply himself enough. So, he has a tutor which I take him to every second Wednesday at 4 ‘o’ clock. I know your schedule is rather full with your choice of profession, but my son will not fall behind on schoolwork because you were to busy rolling around in the mud with Pongo, or some monster.’

‘Regina.’ Emma’s voice was calm, thunderingly so. It looked as though lightning flashed across her face in that moment, anger seeping through her usually relaxed demeanor. Regina didn’t heed the warning.

‘I do laundry on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursday. There are two piles—Light and Dark—so that the load isn’t too heavy. If you put the red with the white, I swear to the gods, Miss Swan, I will—’

‘That’s enough,’ ordered Emma, still refusing to even look at Regina. ‘I’m warning you, Regina—’

‘I still sing to him every night. He cannot go to sleep otherwise, so I suggest you learn the words to—_Oh!_’

Regina ended up flat on her back, her breath nearly snatched from her lungs. Emma was on top of her, straddling one of her thighs as she pinned her to the ground. Hot, angry tears pooled in the witcher’s eyes as she snarled, and the sight alone caused a soft gasp to escape the brunette.

She didn’t think she had ever seen Emma cry before, excluding when she had put Henry in a coma. The savior had always kept such emotions more to herself than share them with others, but Regina hadn’t even thought it possible for a witcher to show the depth of emotion that Emma currently was.

‘Let me rephrase, put it in words you’ll understand,’ Emma’s grip tightened on Regina’s wrists. ‘The only way that fury is getting your soul is if tears you from my cold, lifeless corpse. I’m not breaking my promise to our son, so if you have a death wish do it when I’m dead.’

It wasn’t in Regina to take commands, least of all from Emma Swan. It wasn’t their dynamic. The sorceress gave orders and the witcher would begrudgingly follow along, but the look in her amber orbs... It struck her speechless.

‘Miss Swan, I—’

She didn’t get to finish her sentence. The witcher pushed off her, effectively ending the argument. Reaching down, Emma gripped Regina’s hand to pull her back onto her feet. She was already glancing away, as if the brunette’s presence was a nuisance.

Regina was used to such a sudden shift in the witcher’s demeanor. Emotions typically weren’t welcome in the way of a witcher because it clouded their judgement and decision-making skills during a fight. Emma was trying to protect herself as much as she was trying to protect Regina.

‘You can tell me what a moron I am later,’ promised Emma, her attention once again focused solely on their surroundings. ‘Right now, we need to—’

Lightning crashed from out of the sky and the pitter-patter increased violently, soaking them to the bone. While Emma was likely used to extreme weathers and didn’t mind the material soaking to her bone, Regina was not put together the same way.

A bone-chilling shriek filled the air.

The fury was back. 

‘I don’t suppose you have a plan then?’ Regina heard herself ask, naive enough to hope.

* * *

Surprise wasn’t something Emma often felt. She couldn’t allow herself to be caught off guard. Not ever. But at the sight of the short stack intercepting what would have been a painful blow from the fury, her mouth nearly dropped onto the ground. 

Emma knew all the Lost Boys personally, albeit begrudgingly on their part, and she was certain she had never seen him before.

_Rabbit mask... trench coat... baggy trousers... a sword..._

Add them together and you get:

‘Pan! Peter Pan, at your service, milady!’ the kid made the introduction. He was looking at Regina, his smile nearly splitting his face in half.

If he hadn’t looked like he was still in the second grade, Emma would have allowed a certain green side of her to come out and play.

Emma and Regina shared a brief look of confusion, momentarily forgetting that the fury was still collecting its bearings.

‘Kid, I _killed _Peter Pan,’ grunted Emma. ‘Trust me, you ain’t him.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, too, Mistress Witcher!’ Pan continued enthusiastically. ‘Oh! Watch o—’

Emma soared through the air, a horrified gasp filling her ears over the wails of the fury. Belatedly, she realized that the sound had come from Regina. She collided with a tree and a crack echoed from what could only have been a bone. Worse, it could have been her spine. Her silver sword skidded away in the darkness and she allowed a curse to slip passed her bleeding lips.

The fury’s blow left her winded, blood oozing from deep wounds sliced across her chest. The substitute for her armor had been no aid at all. She spat a mouthful of blood and saliva onto the mud, hoping that the asshole who stole her precious armor would have a pain in their ass come morning.

She loathed surprises.

‘Hey! Mind if I cut in?’

Though the voice is small, it rumbled through the woods as Pan narrowed his glowing amber eyes towards the vile creature. 

Emma wanted to scold the kid for his recklessness. She wanted to advise him not to intervene in matters that could get him killed, but these warnings died on her lips when the boy zipped forward and collided into their enemy. 

The fury was thrown through the woods upon impact, colliding with several trees and taking them all down with it. 

Pan was fast and Emma didn’t need the trembling of her medallion to inform her of the amount of magical energy that radiated off him like waves of heat. So, Emma thought she’d take a moment to herself, her head thudding back against the tree as blood continued to pour from her gaping wounds.

Out of the corner of Emma’s eye, she sees Regina running towards her, dropping to her knees as she reached out towards her injuries. She looked so uncharacteristically frightened that the witcher swore she could feel her heart ache in pain, too.

‘I’m alright,’ she promised gruffly, looking up into concerned brown orbs. ‘It’s just a few scratches.’

Regina made a sound of disapproval before reaching for one of Emma’s pouches. There wasn’t any time to tend to the injuries, but a quick dose of a Swallow potion would immediately stop her bleeding. At the rate of which things were going they couldn’t afford wasting Regina’s magic on such feebleness like flesh wounds.

‘A friend of yours?’ inquired Regina, her nimble fingers moving quickly. The sorceress popped the cork of the vial and aided the witcher in consuming every last drop.

The potion took effect within a matter of seconds, Emma’s veins gaining a sickly green color and her skin growing paler. It felt as though her whole body was on fire and sweat beaded across her forehead, but she no longer felt the ache of the wounds.

‘I’ve never seen the kid before. Pretty sure I’d remember an encounter like _that_.’

Emma pushed off the ground with minimum help from Regina and retrieved her sword. Her eyes caught a glimpse of something speeding towards them and out of pure instincts, the witcher dove for Regina, tackling the woman onto the ground. Pan and the fury barely missed their mushed bodies, colliding into several more trees as they battled for dominance.

‘We need to get out of here,’ Emma grunted.

Regina gaped up at her, ‘And leave him to face that _thing_?’ 

‘Listen to me,’ Emma growled impatiently, ‘I’m one hell of a witcher, the best there is, and your magical skill is unmatched, but I know when we’re fighting a losing battle. That kid is creaming us both and it’s been less than five minutes. We can ask questions later, when we make it out of this alive.’

The sorceress hesitated, but then offered a curt nod before allowing Emma to help her back onto her feet.

Bone-chilling shrieks filled the air, echoing behind them as they ran. The fury could no doubt tell that its prey was getting further and further away because of the diversion. Emma couldn’t care less, her grip on Regina’s hand tightening in a possessive manner; a self-proclamation that fury may not touch what, at least in her subconscious mind, belonged to her.

The hairs on the back of Emma’s neck stood on end at a similar shift in energy she had felt weeks ago. They stopped in their tracks, simultaneously turning to look at each other. By the look on Regina’s face she felt it, too. 

Now, there was no doubt in Emma’s mind that this... _Peter Pan _was the one who stole her Witcher Tome and that their problems had taken a turn for the worse.

* * *

The bedsheets felt soft underneath Emma’s skin; a luxury she would never again take for granted after spending so many years in the Enchanted Forest and the most questionable living environment she had ever experience.

It was an amusing sight—Regina next to her with her hands illuminated in a soft purple glow and Mary Margaret standing beside the bed with concern etched onto her face. Emma could tell she had scared them both if the sounds Regina hadn’t even known she made were any indication and the panicked noise Mary Margaret had made when Emma called her.

Injuries were to be expected in her profession, but that didn’t mean Mary Margaret was fond of the amount of life-threatening ones Emma had accumulated over the years. It made Emma feel guilty, if only a little, every time she awoke out of a coma with mild surprise, she had survived her wounds and found her mother seated at the end of a bed with tears staining her cheeks.

‘You were lucky,’ announced Mary Margaret, inspecting the new set of scars painting her offspring’s flesh. ‘Things could have ended far worse.’

‘You call this _lucky_?’ Regina gaped at the raven-haired woman as though she had just sprouted a second head. ‘Have you fallen ill? Do you have any idea the amount of magical energy I had to expel in order to close the internal—’

‘She didn’t mean it like that,’ Emma cut Regina off, trying to placate the infuriated woman. ‘She just means I’ve had worse.’

Regina fell silent at that, a frown creasing her brows together.

They never talked about the years Emma and Mary Margaret had spent apart from them. It was better that way given everything that had happened to them and some wounds that would now never heal. Emma also didn’t look forward to any conversation with Regina involving the words "I rammed my sword through your mother’s gut and didn’t regret it for a moment." She knew Regina suspected, but it went unsaid.

The sorceress retracted her hands and Emma dropped her tattered shirt as she sat up. Her bones still ached tiredly from their journey through the woods and she couldn’t help but look forward to when she could crash her head onto a pillow.

‘So, this boy who called himself...’ Mary Margaret trailed off, crossing her arms over her chest. Emma knew that her mother wasn’t overly fond of the idea that they would face another Pied Piper, especially since Henry had nearly died the last time they did.

‘_Peter Pan_,’ supplied Regina, accompanied with a sigh.

‘Right. This... _Peter Pan_... is the one that stole your Witcher Tome?’

Emma shrugged, ‘It’s the only way to explain the leshen and the demon. Now the fury, too. He must have cast a spell of some kind, leaving the barrier even more fragile than before.’ The witcher paused, drumming her fingertips on her bicep. ‘I don’t think that he’s responsible for Jefferson’s death though.’

Regina looked at her in surprise, ‘You _don’t_?’

‘The Lost Boys are assholes, sure, but they were only killing because of the original Pan, and because the island brought out the worst in them. This kid, he’s unhinged, but he’s no murderer.’

The two women didn’t look convinced, but Emma knew what a killer looked like. That kid held a wonder in his eyes that reminded her of Henry.

‘Look, Jefferson was looking into something. I don’t know what, but Ruby and I believe without a shadow of a doubt it has something to do with _Irons Shipping & Real Estate_. That’s what got him killed, not some kid fooling around with my shit.’

Regina sighed in defeat, ‘You have a point.’ She reached towards her bodice, and had Emma been any less of the woman she was now, she would have turned beet red at witnessing Regina pull out a key from in between her breasts. ‘I managed to snag this from inside a book from Jefferson’s study. He literally had the pages cut out to hide it.’

Emma took the item in between her fingertips. The key must open a door somewhere, but neither of them recognized it. 

‘Guess the title of the book,’ implored the sorceress. ‘_Hamlet _by Willian Shakespeare.’

Emma’s eyes widened in realization. 

_That son of a bitch._

‘Jefferson’s pointing us directly towards Irons,’ stated Emma. ‘He must have discovered something he shouldn’t have, and the bastard had him killed. Jefferson anticipated it and left us clues.’

‘And I’d bet you my fortunes that it has something to do with Irons wanting to by all the land surrounding the harbor,’ Regina smirked, eyes dancing with pride. ‘The snake’s up to something.’

‘Well, what do we do now?’ Mary Margaret questioned evenly.

What would they do now?

Most of this was just speculation. No judge would award them a warrant to snoop around Irons. His fairytale counterpart might be Scar, but he certainly wasn’t any idiot. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he had kept it out of the public’s eye.

Emma shook her head, ‘I don’t fucking know.’


	8. The Things We Do for Love

The urge to gag and empty her stomach of all its contents was a but overwhelming for Emma. She could stand the smell of corpses and the smell of being covered in ghoul blood was nothing new to her, but horse shit? More importantly, _cleaning _horse shit? Emma had wanted to cut off her own leg with a sword just so that Henry wouldn’t drag her to the stables.

In the Enchanted Forest, she had possessed a few of her own four-legged companions. Traveling on the Path was the witcher’s way and she had often traveled thousands of miles for jobs. Sometimes, Mary Margaret remained behind at the _scholae _or in some town they chose to stop by. It was then that Emma found herself feeling a little lonely. Horses had changed that for her.

Even now, old habits died hard. When Regina trained Henry and Maximus (the kid’s choice), Emma spent a few hours with the horse she had picked for herself. It was a nice way to spend her free time and ignore David’s calls all day long.

Emma grumbled when Roach’s tail flicked into her face. He might possess the most important quality any Roach needed to be her companion—he didn’t say much—but unfortunately, he had an attitude of his own. She had a good mind to unsheathe her hunting knife and slice a good chunk of the hair, but she knew _her majesty _would notice something wrong.

‘Did you wash your horse back in the Enchanted Forest, too?’ 

Emma looked backwards to see Henry dangling from the stall door. His head was leaning on his arms and for a moment she wondered if he had pushed a bale of hay or a barrel so he could stand and watch her without crowding them.

She thought on that, because things were a little fuzzy for several reasons. She was certain Mary Margaret had because... Well, just because she was _Mary Margaret_; Overprotective Mother and Bird-Talker extraordinaire. However, the relationship Emma had with her horses had all been the same. She spoiled them on occasion, but she hadn’t formed any close bonds. She had been cold and distant. She blamed that on the mutations, but she knew it had been the excuse she always told herself.

‘No, I didn’t,’ she settled on being honest. ‘Roach had to settle with the occasional river bath.’

‘You named all your horses _Roach_? Why?’

Emma sighed, ‘Because I’m not good with naming things. I’m pretty sure if it had been up to me to choose your name, I would have called you "Kid".’

Henry laughed at that. She did, too, unable to stay unaffected by her son’s infectious sounds. They settled down momentarily and Emma continued her task.

It’s not that she hated cleaning Roach and his stall on occasion, but more the reason why. It wasn’t strange that after Regina had overexerted herself with her magic that she practically caught her death. She was lying in the living room, as sick as a dog and barely able to move from the couch to the kitchen or any other areas of the house. For the past week, Emma had barely done a smidge of work, having been forced to leave it to her deputies while she took care of Regina. 

Taking Henry to the stables was the first thing she did outside of the house besides picking up paperwork. Ruby was nice enough to drop off groceries and Mary Margaret did any necessary runs to the pharmacy.

‘So, what _did _you do with your horses if you didn’t bathe them?’

Fishing expeditions always started the same way. Henry thought he was being clever and subtle by picking a certain topic and asking various questions about it, but Emma, to his annoyance, always saw right through him.

She didn’t like talking about the Enchanted Forest. Period.

It wasn’t just the underlying PTSD either.

The things Emma had done to get back to Storybrooke... The things she had done in acceptance that she would never return home... Well, she thought them unforgivable. More importantly, she didn’t know what memories to trust and what not to. Things were complicated, like they always were.

‘Kid...’

Henry’s smile fell and morphed into a pout. ‘You never want to talk about it.’

‘Because none of the memories spark any kind of joy, Henry,’ Emma reminded gently, her shoulders shagging sadly. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to tell you about it... It’s that it just hurts too much.’

‘Is it really all just bad memories?’ Henry questioned, his face a picture of purity and innocence.

The immediate thought that came to mind was a single word:

_Cora_.

Emma pursed her lips. She might only have been around for the first three years of her and Mary Margaret’s travels on the Path, but she had caused Emma more than enough torment to overshadow her time in the foster system.

No wonder Regina was such a hard ass.

‘Maybe not,’ she lied, forcing her tone not to be as bitter as she felt. ‘There were some good times, too. Like some of the winters I spent at the _scholae’s _keep. Forktail hunting around the stronghold was a fun pass time with the gang.’

It brought a small smile to her lips. Thinking back on some of the witchers she had gotten to know always made her feel a little lighter. Like she, they were orphans and understood the feeling of being abandoned; forsaken. Some of them were even children of the _Law of Surprise_—an ancient custom as old as humanity itself. The Law dictated that an individual saved by another is expected to offer to their savior a favor whose nature is unknown to one or both. In most cases, the favor took the form of the saved their firstborn child, conceived or born without their knowledge. 

Emma often wondered if she had never been able to return home, would she have sprung the law on some poor, unsuspecting sap who was unfortunate enough to be saved by her? Would she have continued the dying breed of monster hunters, thinking of the son she would never see again as she looked after another person’s child?

The witcher shook her head and renewed her efforts of scrubbing a stain from Roach’s side. There was no point on dwelling on _what ifs_. That was how most people drove themselves mad. Emma was home and she was safe, loved and cared for. Even when it was bitterly different.

‘You don’t talk about them, either,’ Henry pointed out, pouting even further.

Emma raised an eyebrow, ‘Swallow the lip before I sew it to the sole of your shoe.’

‘You know how to _sew_?’

‘Kid,’ she laughed, shaking her head. ‘You’re missing the point here.’

‘The point is that I don’t understand what’s the big deal,’ Henry huffed, lifting his head off their resting place. ‘I’m just curious what you had been doing with the past ten years of your life. I missed out on a lot of birthdays and stuff, so can you blame me fore being curious?’

‘Thanks for making me feel old,’ grumbled Emma, rolling her eyes. 

But she knew he was right. She _couldn’t _fault him for wanting to know about the things she was so tight lipped about. 

‘Okay, tell you what,’ she dropped the brush back into the bucket and wiped her hands onto her pants, ‘You may ask me three questions, and if I think they’re "safe", then I’ll try and answer them the best way I can—if they’re not, then you need to ask another question.’

It wasn’t much, but it was something. Henry would also stop pestering her for the next few times they found themselves in just each other’s company.

The way Henry’s face lit up immediately made Emma wish she had given in to him sooner and it made her regret cracking under pressure at all. He reached for something inside his riding jacket and retrieved a small notebook as though he had been preparing for this day since Emma and Mary Margaret had come home.

Emma groaned.

‘First question: Did you work for Kings and Queens—and if you did, what did they employ you for?’

‘What is this—a job interview?’

Henry looked up at her with the most serious expression she had ever seen grace his features, ‘I’ll ask the questions here.’

Emma glanced back at Roach, who just continued to eat his straw like this behavior was completely normal. 

‘Yes, I worked for a few royals—nobles, too. It was the usual nonsense; a ghoul terrorizing a farming community or a wraith occupying their favorite castle.’ She fixed Henry a pointed look and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Doesn’t that count as two questions.’

‘No, it counts as a sub-question because it’s relevant to the original.’

‘That’s a thing?’

Henry shrugged, ‘If it wasn’t it sure is now.’

Emma’s lips flattened into a thin line. He was definitely the splitting image of Regina and knew how to manipulate a situation to his liking, especially regarding Emma. The worst part, like with Regina, she allowed him to do it because... 

Well, because they were Henry and Regina.

‘Next question: Were you romantically involved with anyone?’

‘Oh, jeez,’ muttered Emma, placing a hand on her hip. ‘Kid... I’m pretty sure that’s not something you want to know.’

‘Is it a "safe" question?’

‘Well... relatively speaking, yeah.’

‘Then, you have to answer it.’

‘Kid...’

‘Hey!’ pouted Henry, fixing her with an insufferable look. ‘You said.’

Emma sighed, dragging a hand through her unruly locks. Normally, she kept it up in a hair tie, but today she had been feeling... _adventurous._

She was definitely regretting her decision alright.

How do you tell your kid, who means the world to you, that you made a good effort of bedding most of the continent’s female population? The answer is that you don’t and that you should never place yourself in a situation where they had the chance to ask.

‘Okay, fuck—I mean, duck—’ she growled frustratedly. ‘Yes, I had been romantically involved with people.’

‘Do you think those relationships could have gone anywhere?’

Emma mulled over the question. The answer was obviously _no_. She had had her share of one-night stands during her time as a bounty hunter and everything after that was just that; a means to an end. 

The only person she had thought about during all of that was—

‘No,’ exhaled Emma, sobering from her thoughts. ‘No, I don’t. Are we done now?’

‘No, that was a sub-question, too.’ Henry grinned, a roguish gleam in his eyes. ‘Last question: What do you think about my mom?’

.

.

.

Emma blinked. 

_That _didn’t have _anything _to do with the Enchanted Forest _at all_. She sure as hell knew when she saw a fishing expedition when it slapped her right in the face. After all, her mother was Snow _Frikkin' _White, and even now subtly was not her strong suit.

The witcher straightened herself just a tad, her additional inches gained from mutations aided her in gaining the upper hand. She was able to tower over Henry a good length, adding even more intimidation to her routine.

‘Look me in the eye, kid. What are you planning—more importantly, what are you plotting?’

Henry feigned a look of innocence, ‘Me? I’m just a kid, Emma. What could _I _possibly have up my sleeve?’

Emma raised an eyebrow. The little shit had the gall to toss such a weak hand in her face. Subsequently, she narrowed her eyes at the boy, bending down to stare directly into his soul.

‘You know what they say about witchers, right?’ implored the witcher seriously. ‘Nursery rhymes sing about how we eat children.’

‘And yet, the scariest thing I’ve seen you do is eat pineapple on your pizza.’

Emma grumbled. ‘Kid, what are you up to?’

‘Nothing!’ Henry insisted fervently, but he seemed to falter in that conviction. ‘I mean, nothing too bad. I swear.’

‘Either you tell me now, or I’ll concoct a potion that’ll force you to tell the truth.’ Emma gave her son a blank stare, her face completely unreadable. ‘Then, we’ll find out what _really _happened to your mom’s begonias.’

Henry gaped at her, ‘You wouldn’t! She made you do the dishes for a whole week!’

‘Then, think about what she’ll do to you when she finds out you’re the reason Pongo trampled across her precious flowers, and then _lied _about it.’ Emma tutted and shook her head. She feigned a look of indifference despite the fact she had allowed Henry to bribe her with his share of desert for the entirety of that week. ‘Shame on you, kid. Your mom would be _very _disappointed.’

‘What do you think she’s going to think about you?’ Henry was quick to counter. ‘_Blackmailing _a _child. _And her _Little Prince_, nonetheless.’

‘Does it look like I’m not prepared to face the consequences?’ Emma allowed a small smirk to grace her lips. ‘I can sleep at the B&B, _you_, on the other hand, _live _with her.’

They stared each other down, neither one willing to budge. They have come to a stalemate and their battle was now just a fight to see which one of them had the strongest willpower.

Unfortunately, unlike Emma, Henry was not "forged in the bowels of hell" and had barely made it through fourth grade of his absenteeism marring his records. He finally settled on a sheepish smile.

‘I, uh, found your compass thingy when I was going through your stuff yesterday.’

Emma’s hand flew to her right pants pocket and realized the artifact was not where it was supposed to be. She had gotten so used to her routine by now that because the item hadn’t been where she usually kept it, she had completely let it slip her mind.

‘Kid, where _is _my compass right now?’

The sheepish smile only seemed to grow.

_You love him_, Emma forcibly reminded herself. _It’s not worth it._

‘If this goes sideways, I’ll bury you alive and dance on your grave.’ Emma pulled out her cellphone from her pocket and sent a speed text to Ruby; a plea to clean up after them in the stalls.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Henry waved her off. ‘Were you actually going to make me drink a truth potion?’

‘Yes.’

Henry didn’t need to know that she couldn’t actually _make _a truth potion.

* * *

The flashing lights on the microwave told Regina that it was well past eleven in the morning. Perhaps twelve. Or, well, possibly an hour past noon. She would never be completely sure unless she squinted at the appliance. The sorceress didn’t trust her blurry vision at the moment or for the rest of the time she was ailed with the... _bug_.

_Damn you, Miss Swan._

Regina envied a witcher’s immunity against illnesses.

She should get some more rest, but she refused to call Emma or any of her lackeys for something as silly as a cup of tea. It was through sheer will that she had managed to drag herself out of her bed and she would continue to function on just that for however long she needed.

The illness made her feel utterly useless, her limbs feeling like lead told her that she might as well be. And while she did enjoy _some _of the perks of being looked after by Miss Swan cabin fever had taken hold of her three days prior. 

If she didn’t get rid of the blasted cold soon, then she was going to lose her mind.

She took a seat by the kitchen table, waiting impatiently for the kettle to whistle its dreary tune on the stove. The table beneath her fingertips was cool and made her shiver, pulling on the blanket wrapped around her shoulders just a little tighter.

Emma and Henry were most likely enjoying a wonderful morning together, caring for the horses by the stable. They’re running late now and had probably decided a lunch at the diner was better than coming home to the dark and germ-infested mansion.

A sigh left the sorceress' lips and she loathed herself for missing Emma’s company just as much as she missed Henry’s.

Her mother would call her needy.

With the steaming cup of tea held firmly in her grasp, Regina made her way back upstairs. However, far too restless to return to her bed, the sorceress all but glided into Emma’s room. Curiosity had gotten the better of her and now that she had stepped inside, she knew she couldn’t possibly turn back now.

She was pleasantly surprised with how neat Emma kept her things. There wasn’t even a shred of clothing to be found anywhere except their designated area in the washbasin. 

Countless of books sat on a relatively small shelf and Regina couldn’t help but run her hands along the spines. There wasn’t anything she hadn’t read in the old world before, but she couldn’t help but wonder how Emma had gotten her hands on the rarer editions.

On the desk by the window, Regina had noticed some woodworking tools. Bits of wood-shavings lay around on the furniture and around on the floor, too, but Regina couldn’t find it in her to suddenly want to clean the mess. She was just far too tired, and her limbs protested every minuscule move she made. Regina was also curious as to what Emma had been doing in her alone time. She rarely spoke of her hobbies and interests which often upset the sorceress greatly, even if she couldn’t admit it to herself.

The closet was an interesting case, mostly because of the runes she sensed in the back of the cupboard. It was powerful enough to singe the most skilled magical users which only boggled Regina’s mind even further how someone could have gotten passed them to steal the Tome.

What stood out above all the little things was the compass that sat on Emma’s nightstand. The witcher rarely parted from the item, let alone left the house without it. It had been an enigma to Regina when she had first noticed the item back in Neverland. Hook had been the one to ask about it and Emma had nearly castrated him for his efforts to make conversation. No one dared to bring it up afterwards.

Regina bit her lip and shuffled closer. Somewhere in the back of her mind the rational part of her being told her it was a terrible idea, yet her fingers tingled pleasantly as she lifted the golden object off the wooden surface. The runes glowed a soft violet color and her curiosity only seemed to intensify.

Nervously, the sorceress set the cup of tea down and reached for the lid. She began to pry it open slowly, deliberately biding her time. What did she thought she would find? A portrait of Henry? Or her lost lover, Neal? Perhaps a portrait of some doomed floozy? Or someone who currently held her affections?

There were so many questions swimming around in her head and yet the answer was right in front of her.

The lid clicked open and her eyes nearly bulged out of her eye-sockets.

It was her.

A small, hand drawn portrait of her face. It looked so lifelike that Regina nearly dropped the compass as though the metal had burned her skin. There was a part of her that knew she had learned something she wasn’t meant to. She had intruded on something painfully private. 

As if it would help her unsee it, Regina hurriedly shut the lid before slamming the compass back down onto the nightstand. She grabbed her tea, noting it had gone cold, before she rushed out of the room.

She felt lightheaded in all suddenness, her legs threatening to give out from under her. It had nothing to do with her cold.

Was she losing her mind? Why on earth would Emma keep such a thing in her compass? Surely, she couldn’t possibly...? But what if she did and Regina had missed all the signs?

Regina shook her head. No, it wasn’t possible.

.

.

.

_Right_...?

* * *

It was midday and Regina was _vacuuming_.

She only vacuumed when she was either upset or thought the house was filthy. Since getting sick, the appliance had only served to give her a headache, so Emma was going to go with the former answer.

Emma sent Henry upstairs after chiding him to take off his muddy riding boots, then bravely ventured deeper into the house. The assumption in her mind was that Regina had found the compass and saw the picture inside. From the deep frown on the sickly pale woman’s features, she wasn’t pleased with the revelation.

‘Regina, what the hell are you doing out of bed?’

The vacuum continued, the sound managing to give Emma a headache of her own. Either Regina hadn’t heard or seen the witcher, or she was blatantly ignoring her.

Emma sent an unimpressed look towards the brunette before marching over to the plug. In one simple tug, the cord popped out of the socket and she held it in the air like the trophy of her latest slain monster.

‘Oh,’ was all Regina managed once she looked up. ‘You’re home.’

The way the sorceress winced portrayed what she thought of the awful scratching sound that had escaped her mouth.

By the gods, she sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

‘What are you doing out of bed? You look like you had just woken up after being in a coma for a year.’

‘My, what am I to do with all these compliments?’ The sarcasm, however, was drowned out by the sound of her voice.

‘Regina, Dr. Whale said that you needed bed rest.’ She tossed the cord down onto the floor in aggravation, then motioned towards the vacuum. ‘_This _isn’t _resting_.’

‘I’m fine,’ insisted the sorceress, stubborn as ever. ‘I’ll catch my death through boredom if I lie down for another second.’

‘You’ll catch your death if you _don’t _lie down. You look like a gentle breeze could blow you over.’

Her green orbs took in Regina’s appearance, paying close attention to the choice of attire. A sigh escaped Emma as she reached up to massage the bridge of her nose.

‘Regina, for the sake of the gods, you’re wearing _pajamas_ at like two in the afternoon. If that doesn’t vouch for your state of health, then I don’t know what will.’

‘It’s just... _comfortable_,’ the woman finished lamely. ‘I don’t know what you’re going on about, Miss Swan. I’m perfectly fine, in fact, I’ve never been better.’

‘Mm-hmm. How many fingers am I holding up?’

‘I don’t have my glasses with me.’

‘You don’t _wear _any glasses.’

‘Miss Swan, I’m telling you that I am well enough to dwell around my own home, but if it will set your mind at ease, I’ll indulge you,’ she paused squinting. ‘Four.’

‘One, Regina. I’m holding up one-fuckin'-finger.’ Emma rolled her eyes, placing her hands onto her hips. ‘Do us both a favor and get some more sleep.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You fuckin' can and you will, and if I have to drag you there myself then so be it.’

‘Wha—? Miss Swan! Put me down this instant!’

Emma merely grunted, shifting Regina’s weight slightly in her bridal hold. The sorceress could barely stand up right, so the chances of being fireballed or punched were relatively low.

‘You’ll thank me later.’

‘I most certainly won’t!’

The more steps Emma take, the more Regina relaxed in her hold, giving in to the complete exhaustion that fought to overwhelm her every second of the day. She looked small and fragile; no trace of any fighting spirit left within her. Her fingers clutched softly at Emma’s leather straps; her head heavy against Emma’s breast.

‘What made you get up in the first place?’ Emma couldn’t keep the curiosity out of her tone even if she wanted to. 

Regina hadn’t been able to leave her bed for more than a measly bathroom break. Even brief showers were challenging. It didn’t make sense for her to be downstairs, or why she would be upset enough to be cleaning.

‘Contrary to popular belief, I do need sustenance other than living off the fear of lowly peasants, Miss Swan.’

‘Why didn’t you call me?’

Regina rolled her eyes, ‘I’m not utterly helpless, you know? You were busy and I didn’t feel the need to bother you and Henry. He’s barely left the house for things other than school because of me and I hadn’t wanted him to go mad.’

Emma chuckled at that, ‘So you made yourself some tea?’

‘Am I _that _predictable?’

‘No. Mutant senses, remember? I can smell it on your breath.’

At the top of the stairs, Emma’s grasp slipped a little and she stopped to gently adjust Regina in a more comfortable position. Despite her incredible strength, Regina wasn’t at all difficult to carry. She was lighter than most of the deadweight Emma was often forced to drag around.

‘You know,’ Regina exhaled in exasperation. ‘I’m not impaired. I _can _walk.’

‘Yeah, but this is faster,’ insisted Emma. ‘So, after you made a cup of tea you just...what? Decided you wanted to start vacuuming?’

Emma felt Regina stiffen in her arms almost instantly. The witcher didn’t know why the brunette would be rattled, but she couldn’t help but think back to the compass. If Regina had seen it, wouldn’t she have said something by now? Or was she just trying to avoid making an awkward situation worse than it already was?

‘If it were up to you, we’d live in a pigsty,’ sniped Regina defensively. ‘You and your son leave crumbs everywhere.’

‘So, he’s my son when he does something you don’t approve of, but yours when he gets an A in school?’ Emma raised an eyebrow, a small smile of amusement tugging at the corners of her lips. 

‘Precisely.’

‘Okay, Madame Mayor,’ Emma rolled her eyes, gently placing Regina back under the covers of her bed. ‘So, you weren’t vacuuming because you were... I don’t know... upset?’

Regina raised an eyebrow, ‘Now why would I be upset, Miss Swan?’

‘I don’t know,’ Emma shrugged, scratching the back of her neck. ‘You vacuum when you’ve got something on your mind.’

‘I’m fine, dear,’ reassured Regina. ‘Now quit dawdling. Has Henry eaten anything yet?’

‘...no.’

‘Then, I suggest you feed our son.’ Regina made a shooing motion with her hand, settling back against the pillows. ‘I haven’t eaten anything yet, so some chicken soup will be appreciated.’

Emma chuckled and shook her head. ‘Yes, Regina. It’s my pleasure, Regina.’

‘Well, it took a while, but we finally have you house trained,’ her tone rose with a teasing lilt, a tired smirk settling on her lips. ‘Now, chop-chop.’

The witcher rose to her feet, keeping all commentary to herself. Bantering was fun, but Regina wasn’t herself and she would most likely just end up draining the poor woman from energy.

Unbeknownst to Emma, an unsettling look passed over Regina as she watched the witcher exit the room. A twinge of longing sparkling in her brown orbs.

* * *

Emma’s first day back at the station was the graveyard shift. It wasn’t that she wanted to, given that Regina had only just gotten slightly better, but she could only cash in favors from her deputies for so long.

It was only her and Ruby at the station, the latter pulling some overtime for whatever reason she needed the extra cash. Emma wasn’t going to question it, but she had an inkling it had something to do with a certain redheaded librarian. They were both seated in front of the murder board, contemplating connections and the latest clue Jefferson had left them, but they could only get so far over a carton of Chinese noodles.

‘So, _Peter Pan, _huh?’

The chopsticks slipped between her fingers and Emma had a good mind to flick a noodle in her friend’s face.

‘I swear, if you bring up the stalker thing one more time—’

Ruby laughed, throwing her head back. She was enjoying Emma’s annoyance and frustration just as much as the other deputies had.

And she was supposed to trust those assholes in life or death situations?

‘I’m just saying that you should take it for what it is; you have an admirer.’

‘An admirer that _stole_ my clothes, my Witcher Tome and my money.’ Emma gave the wolf an incredulous look. ‘Where am I supposed to be flattered in all of this?’ 

‘Come on, he saved your skin and Regina’s,’ Ruby motioned towards Emma with her chopsticks, as though the hand signal would somehow convince the witcher to see things her way. ‘That’s gotta count for something.’

Emma weighed her head from side to side, forcing a contemplative expression, ‘Maybe a five second head start before I pummel him, yeah.’ 

‘You’d actually hit a kid?’ Ruby’s eyebrows rose skyward. 

The question stung a little because Emma had more than just hit a kid for the sake of protecting Henry. She had trimmed down the numbers of the Lost Boys quite a bit during her time in Neverland and while she held no regrets, she wasn’t too proud either.

Ruby, sensing her boss’s silence, turned back towards the board, dropping the topic entirely. ‘So, uh, Regina really thinks Irons has something to do with this? With Jefferson’s death?’

‘Yip, I do, too.’

The key they had found in Jefferson’s home didn’t have any fingerprints, not even Jefferson’s. They also didn’t have the slightest of clues what the item opened or what they would discover with the lead but given all the secrecy and the lengths Jefferson had gone through to hide it, it couldn’t be for the doorway to Narnia.

Irons, however, kept his nose clean as if he knew they were investigating him. He was going through great lengths to continue his facade of being a substantial citizen, even contributing a healthy amount to the Harvest Festival’s preparations.

‘Yeah,’ hummed Ruby. ‘Have you seen his file? No one can stay that clean—not even a fucking parking ticket.’

‘Which is why you don’t take your eyes off him,’ muttered Emma, peeking into her nearly empty carton. ‘He so much as sneezes and I want to know about it. Most of the shit we’ve been doing is just theories. Nothing of it will hold up in a court and we’ll only drive him to be extra careful.’

‘Exactly,’ hummed Ruby, tilting her head back and tapping the last of her noodles into her mouth. ‘Speaking of being careful, the three Stooges,’ Ruby motioned with a chopstick towards the mugshots, ‘Belle and I overheard them talking the other night, and they mentioned something about some kid causing them trouble. They’re now behind on schedule with something and Irons is punishing them for it.’

Emma raised an eyebrow, ‘You think it’s _the _kid?’

‘Your stalker? Probably,’ Ruby shrugged. ‘I mean, the Lost Boys, they work in groups of four or five, they only mentioned the one.’

‘Did they say what he looked like, what kind of trouble he was causing?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Ruby nodded earnestly. ‘Right before they confessed their entire scheme in explicit detail and all the other crimes they’ve committed over the past year.’

A sigh escaped the witcher, ‘You’re an asshole.’

‘Yeah, but I’m nice about it.’

Emma was just prepared to toss a comeback towards her deputy when her cellphone lit up and begun to ring incessantly. One look at the caller ID and Emma frowned, her eyes tinging with concern.

‘The Missus?’ Ruby raised an eyebrow. ‘Isn’t it past her bedtime?’

‘Fuck off, Ruby.’ The witcher answered the call, stepping out of the office in an attempt to bluff herself that the wolf couldn’t hear her. ‘Regina? Is something wrong?’

‘_Yes_,’ the brunette’s tone cut crisply across the line. ‘_There _is _something wrong_.’

Emma’s spine straightened, and she already searched for her weapons to leave in a moment’s notice. ‘What’s wrong? Is Henry okay? I knew I shouldn’t have—’

‘_What?_’ Emma imagined the frown creasing across Regina’s features. ‘_Oh, do calm yourself, Miss Swan. Henry’s fine. I’m not calling because of a new crisis that’s arose nor because we’re in any danger. I am also perfectly capable of protecting our son should the need arise_.’

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, but bit back the comment she wanted to toss back. As much as she trusted in Regina’s abilities as a sorceress, the woman still hadn’t fully recovered. To add insult to injury she had even been running a fever before Emma left for her shift. 

‘Alright, why are you calling, then? It’s late and I’m working.’

‘_I’m calling because of your incompetence, Miss Swan_,’ Regina filled her voice with so much malice that Emma thought that the woman was a few sentences away from kicking her out of the house. ‘_You forgot to take out the trash._’

The witcher blinked. ‘What?’

‘_Are you going to make me repeat myself?_’

‘You’re... You’re calling me because I forgot to take out the trash?’ Emma spoke slowly, trying to let the words sink into her system.

‘_Yes_.’

She held the phone away from her ear and then sighed tiredly. Selfishly, she weighed the pros and cons of moving out and whether or not Regina’s wrath would be worth it, but then she steeled herself and brought her phone back to her ear.

‘I’m sorry, I’ll take it out when I get home,’ apologized Emma, knowing the only way to calm the ill and irate woman was to admit she was in the wrong. She meant the apology, too, but Regina didn’t seem to be in a very forgiving mood.

‘_Your shift ends at six, Miss Swan, and the truck picks up our waste at 5:30,_’ hissed Regina. ‘_I wanted it done before you left._’

Emma bit down hard onto her finger to prevent herself from hanging up on the brunette. If she wasn’t a dead woman now, she surely would be afterwards.

‘Ask Henry to do it.’

‘_Henry’s _asleep_._’

Emma rolled her eyes, ‘And I’m beginning to wonder, why aren’t you?’

‘_Because the trash bag is still sitting idly in the dustbin,_’ retorted Regina. ‘_The trash bag that you were supposed to take out._’

‘Fine,’ Emma growled impatiently, turning on her heels and marching back into the office, ‘I’ll fucking drive back and take out the trash. I’ll be there in five minutes, and then you can go to bed, rest assured that the fucking trash is sitting outside on the sidewalk, ready to be taken away tomorrow at 5:30.’

The blonde ignored Ruby’s wide eyes expression as she tossed papers and other files aside in search of her bug’s keys.

‘_Don’t be ridiculous, you’re on duty._’

Emma straightened her spine and waved her hand around dramatically, ‘Then, what the fuck do you want me to do about it _now_?’

‘_You’re living in _my _house, Miss Swan. I expect you to follow simple instructions written on the chore wheel_.’

Chore wheels, color coding, labels—Emma was close to losing it. Dealing with Regina’s incessant need to have control over every aspect of her life was difficult on her best day, but when the brunette got to the point where she called Emma to scold her for not taking out the trash... Well, Emma has had her fill.

The blonde took a deep breath, then exhaled through her nose. She counted from one to ten and then backwards. 

Handling her emotions were easy, and more often than not Regina didn’t get on her nerves, but after a week of taking care of the woman’s every ludicrous need, her meditations were helping very little.

‘Okay,’ Emma nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I screwed up. It won’t happen again.’

‘_..._’

‘Uh, Regina?’

‘_...Yes, well, ensure that it doesn’t_.’

The brunette fell silent, and a frown made its way onto Emma’s features. She waved Ruby off when her friend made a lewd, mocking motion with her body language. Emma once again walked out of her office, not wishing for any more teasing than her deputy was already going to give her.

‘Hey, uh, Regina... are you okay?’

‘_Perfectly fine. Why do you ask?_’

Emma shrugged before she realized the woman couldn’t see her. ‘I mean, you’ve been blowing up at me for a lot of things lately. More than usual, I mean. Did I do something to upset you?’

‘_..._’

The line remained silent for a while, but before Regina could decide to either end the call or to think of an answer, a loud thud drew Emma’s attention back towards her office.

‘Hold on a second, Regina,’ she stepped closer, her eyes darting around in a cat-like manner. ‘What the—’

Ruby’s slumped form was the last thing Emma saw before she, too, inhaled a cloud of sleeping dust. For such a roguish figure, she fell gracefully to the floor.

‘_Miss Swan? Emma?!_’ 


	9. They Ate My Fucking Snickerdoodles

Emma had been in difficult situations before.

In the Enchanted Forest there had been plenty of those, and often she nearly hadn’t made it out alive. Her body was a canvas of every story, and while she was self-conscious about them, she was proud in a way, too. It wasn’t every witcher that could say they took down a fiend or even a chimera and possessed a nice little collection of battle scars to match each situation.

Though, never had Emma been in a situation where she was rendered unconscious by children and then tied down to her own chair with cable ties.

Her first thoughts, as she regained consciousness, was of how much she would enjoy hauling _Peter Pan_ and Latchboy’s asses into the nearest cell and then sending them off to some far-away juvenile correction facility, but she knew those satisfying fantasies were empty promises to herself.

There was some strange whirring sound filling her ears and the ominous green glow surrounding her and Ruby only boggled her groggy mind further. The cable ties dug into her skin as she struggled against them and it wouldn’t be long before they broke skin and began to draw blood.

‘I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,’ came a familiar sing-song voice. ‘I enchanted them myself. There’s _no way _you could possibly break free.’

The witcher huffed out a breath through her nose. 

Pan, the cocky bastard that he was, had seemingly found her stash of cookies in her desk’s bottom drawer. She snarled at the boy, taking note of his deliberate slow pacing to devour the batch of goods she had managed to snatch from Regina’s last bake induced craze. She had been stretching them out for the past month and still had some to go before running out, but it looked like the boy had done a good job of at least devouring half.

Emma spared a glance at Ruby, who was still out cold, and would be for at least another hour. The witcher resisted the urge to roll her eyes and wondered what Regina would have to say about their level of competency.

‘You wanna explain to me what’s going on?’ said Emma, focusing her amber eyes on Pan. She could sense Latchboy watching her every movement, every breath she took as though he expected her to attempt an escape, but she ignored his presence for the time being.

The boy stopped chewing, then tossed his half-eaten cookie back in the jar. Lowering his mask fully down once again, he set the jar down on the ground and approached his captives. He motioned to the spell enacted around them:

‘This is a Time Pocket. Time on the outside is moving so slowly that it’s all but stopped. We will be uninterrupted for however long necessary.’

Emma remained silent; her expression dangerously blank.

‘I need to talk to you,’ continued Pan, crossing his arms over his small chest, ‘and I don’t want your girlfriend to interfere.’

‘She’s _not _my girlfriend.’

‘Not yet, anyways.’

Emma scowled, ‘What the fuck is _that _supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing, depending on your perspective of things.’

A smartass _and _a riddler.

Just fucking... _perfect_. Just what she needed.

Her gaze turned to Latchboy, but even as he glanced away guiltily Emma knew she couldn’t count on him to do anything. He was there to help Pan and whatever else that might entail. She was surprised by his presence and the fact that he had turned himself over to new leadership but given that he might even know something regarding Jefferson’s death it made sense that he searched for some form of protection.

The witcher leaned back in her chair, sprawling her legs open lazily and attempting to make herself as comfortable as she could under her circumstances.

‘You’re smaller than I remember you,’ she pointed out. ‘What are you—six?’

‘Eight-and-a-_half_.’

‘Close enough,’ shrugged Emma. ‘You know detaining a law enforcer is against the law?’

Pan nodded, ‘So is breaking-and-entering, possession of stolen goods, "_acquiring" _said stolen goods, and—’ he turned to Latchboy, ‘What else did we do?’

‘There was some street art involved, if I remember correctly.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ nodded Pan. ‘The, uh, "tagging". There was definitely some tagging involved.’

‘Kid, are you really _that _cocky you won’t get caught or are you just stupid?’

‘I’m not cocky, I’m confident,’ corrected Pan. ‘And, yes. I’m pretty sure I won’t get caught.’

Emma pursed her lips, a look of annoyance passing over her features. She tugged at the cable ties again, but they resisted against her brute strength as though she had the same amount of muscular power as a newborn lamb.

A silence lapsed between them that was filled by some soft snores on Ruby’s part, Emma far too stubborn to begin any kind of a conversation while Latchboy floundered under her intense gaze. Pan, even behind the mask, seemed more amused than anything else.

‘So...’ Latchboy drawled out, glancing between his friend and her to pry a conversation from their mouths. 

‘So...?’ Emma grunted, putting up a front of complete indifference. ‘You’re the ones who wanted to talk to me. Why the hell should _I _start the conversation?’

‘Well, don’t _you _have any questions?’ said Pan, curiously tilting his head to the side. ‘I mean, you’re not even going to ask me my real name?’

‘Would you even give me a truthful answer?’

‘Well, _no_, but you could at least _try_.’

‘Listen, kid, this isn’t a game,’ snapped the witcher. ‘Someone’s _dead _and now you’re looking really good for it. You also stole my clothes, my money and my witcher tome. You sent a fucking _demon _after me. So, excuse me if I’m not in the mood for _chit-chat_.’

‘Okay, there’s a good explanation for the demon,’ Pan pointed out. ‘Believe me, you’ll be thanking me in the future. As for the clothing and the money, well, that was just because I can—’

‘Kid, you’re not helping your case here.’

‘—but I didn’t kill Mr. Jefferson,’ Pan spoke firmly and clearly, as if he was offended by the very accusation. ‘I’m not here to hurt anyone either. I’m here to help you.’

Emma frowned, ‘What?’

‘Oh,’ interjected Latchboy, uncrossing his arms, ‘he said that he’s—’

‘I heard him the first time, thank you,’ she growled. ‘What do you mean you’re here to help me?’

‘You need to find whoever killed Mr. Jefferson. Whether you believe it or not, it’s in my best interest.’

Emma raised an eyebrow, ‘It’s in your best interest?’

‘It’s in my best interest,’ confirmed Pan. 

The witcher blew a disgruntled breath through her lips. As much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t have much of a choice than to talk with the kid. So far, the amount of concrete information they had could be written on one side of a page. Pan was a new lead, and if he said he didn’t kill Jefferson, then she needed to explore that.

‘Okay, I’ll bite—what do you want to talk about?’

Pan shuffled across the office, then grabbed onto a visitor’s chair with both hands. He dragged it in front of the witcher, just out of reach in case she would try anything. He jumped up onto the furniture and sat with his legs crossed.

‘Let’s play a game?’ he suggested. ‘Try and solve my riddle.’

‘Um, why?’

‘Why not?’ Pan countered. ‘We have all the time in the world, at least until my magic runs out, so let’s get to know each other a little better. An ice-breaker should start the conversation, don’t you think?’

‘I’m gonna break something alright, and it ain’t gonna be ice.’

‘You’d actually hit a kid?’ Pan didn’t at all seem frightened of the threat, as though he knew Emma wouldn’t have the heart to lay a single hand on a child despite their long list of crimes. ‘Come now, Mistress Witcher. You’re not one for empty threats.’

Instead of answering the boy, she huffed, ‘I don’t like riddles.’

‘And I don’t like the taste of cinnamon, but sometimes we have to overcome our discomforts.’

Latchboy chuckled softly, looking up from the file he paged through, ‘I wouldn’t argue with him, if I were you. He’s stubborn; hardest head I e'er seen.’

‘...Fine,’ sighed Emma. ‘Let’s play this stupid game.’

Pan began to swing his legs, bracing himself against the chair:

‘The foolish man wastes me,

The average man spends me,

And the wise man invests in me.

What am I?’

Emma mulled over the question for a moment, then answered, ‘Time. You’re time.’

‘Well done, Mistress Witcher,’ appraised Pan, and Emma imagined a devilish grin spreading out across his features. ‘I thought you said you didn’t like riddles?’

Emma shrugged, ‘I don’t.’

‘Time is the one thing that eludes us, isn’t it?’ the boy continued, scooting closer to the woman. ‘We never seem to have enough of it. We always wish to spend more with our families—our friends? Though, we still often take it for granted.’

‘Let me guess—when you want to grow up you want to become a philosophy major?’

‘What’s that?’

The kid could spout words of wisdom, but he didn’t know what a philosophy major was. Unbelievable.

‘Can we get on with it?’ grumbled Emma. ‘If you’ve forgotten, I’m tied to a chair. It’s not as comfortable as it looks.’

‘If you wouldn’t interrupt me with silly things, then you would see I am trying to make a point here,’ huffed Pan. ‘You really are a _Charming_.’

With narrowed eyes, the witcher strained against the bonds again, her chair inching closer in her attempt to break free. She growled angrily, and as a result she felt the smugness radiating off Pan.

‘There’s only one person who gets to call me _that_, and the last time I checked it sure as hell wasn’t you.’

The sound of Pan’s throaty chuckle had done nothing but test her too thinly spread patience.

‘Oh? Well, may I guess who this person is? Or might I say _she _is?’

Emma clenched her jaw, amber eyes smoldering in annoyance—both at herself and the kid. Her mother always told her that she had a big mouth. She hated it when Mary Margaret was right.

‘May I, Mistress Witcher?’ Pan pushed, his tone sly and filled with delight.

‘No.’

‘Are you su—’

‘Kid, it’s none of your business,’ snarled the blonde, narrowing her eyes. ‘So, fuck off.’

‘Okay.’ The boy laughed and held his hands up in surrender. ‘No need to be so sensitive.’

‘I’m _not _sensi—Gods, is there a point to your riddle, or was that some kind of test? Or an attempt to just annoy me?’

‘Well, I’m not _not _trying to annoy you,’ Pan shrugged. ‘But there is _a _point to this. Several in fact. I know patience isn’t one of your virtues, but if you could bare with me for the moment?’

Emma harrumphed, but decided to still her tongue.

‘The point I am trying to make is that neither of us have a lot of time left. You see, Mistress Witcher, our fates are intwined—like veins on a vineyard—forever weaving together, connecting in ways we could never comprehend, even with all the facts.’

The witcher glanced backwards, her eyes locking with Latchboy. He only managed to shrug his shoulders; a look of sympathy stretched out across his previously blank canvas. 

It was as if to say, _I know what you mean._

Pan, however, didn’t falter. All amusement and teasing drained from his voice, leaving only a steely firmness and... _resignation_. It had taken Emma a moment to register the words, but when they had, she frowned in confusion.

What did he mean by "_our fates are intertwined_"? Did Pan know something that involved their future? If Pan possessed magic that could _stop _time, then could he also know magic that could help him _travel _through time?

‘What do you mean by that?’

The boy didn’t answer. He chose to spout complete and utter nonsense—at least to her ears:

‘There’s a prophecy, written in Elder Speech. It talks about a witcher being born—not turned—out of true love. When that happens, time will come to an end and the world will be reborn through the blood of that child...’ he paused, drawing out a long, insufferable silence. ‘Do you know it?’

Emma shrugged, ‘I’m not really the reading type.’

He nodded his head, ‘You never were.’ 

There was a hint of nostalgia to his voice, and it dawned on Emma that the boy knew her somehow. It was impossible, yes. Emma would have remembered if she knew an eight-year-old that had such powerful magic. As far as she remembered, all of the Lost Boy’s were ten and older. Pan was younger than them, so Emma didn’t think that she had seen him before.

‘Kid, who _are _you?’

‘Well, that’s for me to know, and you to find out, hmm?’ the boy teased in delightfulness. ‘Where’s the _fun_ in that, Mistress Witcher?’

‘You got something to hide, then?’ taunted Emma. ‘There must be a reason why you wear a mask like a coward?’

Pan hesitated, as if her comment had struck a low blow, but he bounced back easily with a question of his own:

‘I could ask you the same?’

Emma raised an eyebrow, ‘What do you mean, kid?’

‘Your compass.’

Those two seemingly insignificant words made Emma’s blood run cold. She never thought it could be possible, but ever muscle in her being tense all at once. The wound that Pan had just dug into was bleeding now, and if that had been what the boy had wanted, then he had succeeded marvelously. 

Emma glared daggers at the boy.

‘What about _my compass_?’ she snarled ferociously.

‘I might just be a kid too smart for his own good, but I’m not _blind_, you know. The way you look at her...’

Pan didn’t need to say her name for Emma to know just who he was talking about. Before she had wondered if he could twist the knife anymore than he already had, now she knew it to be possible.

‘I’m not in denial, if that’s what your trying to get at,’ Emma remarked dryly. ‘I’m not scared of what I feel.’

‘Then why don’t you tell her?’ He pressed on, a whine in his voice that made him sound more like his age. ‘You’re in love with her, and she’s in love with you.’

‘Did you kidnap me just so that you could lecture me on how pathetic I am regarding my love life?’

‘Actually,’ Latchboy chipped in, ‘he’s multitasking.’

‘Oh, I guess that makes it okay, then.’ Emma’s voiced dripped with sarcasm, her eyes rolling skyward. ‘Listen, kid, you haven’t even started puberty yet, so why am I going to follow your advice?’

‘Because I’m right,’ he argued petulantly.

‘No, you’re not.’

‘Am, too!’

Emma had to close her eyes in self-frustration because was she _actually _participating in an argument of “_Not”, “Am, too” _with her captor? What was she? Five?

Regina would have laughed in her face at the absurdity of the situation, as well as the blonde’s proneness to behaving like a child. The blonde decided she would leave that part of the retelling out, lest she never wanted to hear the end of it.

‘Can—Can we just get back to the part where you riddle me to death? Or actually skip to the killing part, because I’m about ready to gouge my own eyes and ears.’

‘We’re not here to kill you,’ said Pan, exasperated. ‘I told you, I wanted to talk.’

‘And we _have _talked. What else could you have on your chest?’

‘I have proof that Scar ordered Jefferson’s murder.’

That made Emma’s breath hitch in her throat. She blinked owlishly at Pan, feeling like she had just been slapped for the first time. Behind her, Latchboy’s breathing became erratic, momentarily distracting her from forming a response.

Emma worked the tension in her jaw, but relented, ‘What kind of proof?’

‘Meet me in Heritage Park next week, 4 ‘o’ clock. Don’t be late.’ Pan reached inside the pouch at his side and Emma’s eyes widened.

‘No—’ She was cut off when the darkness swallowed her whole.

* * *

Regina held little affection for Snow White’s designated _pet_. The young wolf pup, Ruby by name, had once been a complete and utter nuisance to her. Now, it appeared that circumstances had not changed in the past twenty-eight years. If Emma didn’t view the woman as a godparent/best friend, Regina would have continued to entertain the idea of sending warm temperature projectiles her way.

Ridiculously short attire was one of the many reasons. Incompetency was in close competition.

In the span of what could only have been a mere few seconds, a magical, flying _boy _and his friend bested a witcher and her wolf companion—both whom of which possessed superior hearing capabilities—and managed to tie them down to respective chairs for what could have been hours.

When Emma’s call had abruptly ended, panic had seized the brunette. So much so, that she had _called _Snow White, forced the woman to drive over in her state of sleep delirium, then left without even a coherent or rational explanation.

None of which she would admit to the glaring blonde.

‘Explain this to me again?’ Regina pursed her lips, taking a seat across from them in the chair Pan had allegedly been occupying. ‘The two of you,’ she pointed to between Emma and Ruby, ‘you and she, were outwitted by _children_?’ 

Two collective groans filled the air, Emma and Ruby rather tired of rehashing their blunder. It would have brought a smirk to Regina’s lips if her heart wasn’t still hammering against its captivity in her ribcage. 

‘Give us a break, will you?’ said Ruby, narrowing her eyes at the woman. ‘They’re not just _any _kids. They’re _Lost Boys_.’

‘My dear, be that as it may, they’re still _children_.’ Regina rolled her eyes in exasperation, tapping her fingers impatiently on her arm. ‘Really, Miss Swan, I expected this from the mutt—’

‘Hey!’

‘—You on the other hand have no excuse. You’re a witcher, for the sake of the gods and you didn’t see _this_—’ she motioned to all of them—wholeheartedly including the cable ties around their hands and feet, ‘—coming?’

‘To be fair, I was a little preoccupied at the time.’

‘Doing what—fornicating with the Oreos?’ 

Emma tilted her head to catch a glimpse of the cartons and wrappers spread out on her desk. She glared as though the waste would miraculously combust with a single look alone—or perhaps the person responsible for creating the mess.

‘Unfortunately, that wasn’t me,’ Emma said dryly, blowing air out through her nose. ‘Latchboy and Pan were the one’s that devoured my stash. They also ate my fucking snickerdoodles.’

The twitch of Regina’s lips was the only indication of her amusement. She managed to keep herself in check even as the witcher snarled menacingly, the words _my fucking snickerdoodles_ leaving her mouth. 

Regina cleared her throat, uncrossed her legs, and calmly continued to put up her front of indifference. A long, drawn out sigh escaped the brunette, her eyes meeting Emma’s amber once more.

‘I ask again, Miss Swan, with what were you preoccupied with at the time two wanted felons broke into the sheriff station and pulled one over you and tweedle-dee next to you?’

Emma frowned. ‘Wait, I’m tweedle-dumb?’

‘Miss Swan, priorities? You may have heard of them, but if you have forgotten, priority is the condition of being regarded as more important than others. Whether or not I regard you to be more of an idiot than Miss Lucas is at the bottom of that list.’

Emma sulked like she was the puppy Regina had decided to kick today, her shoulders shagging. For a moment Regina thought she had hurt the witcher’s nonexistent feelings when she rejuvenated herself once more.

‘If you wanted to know, I was on the phone with you at the time.’

The inevitable feeling of guilt.

It struck Regina in her chest, nearly causing her to gasp out in pain. She had called Emma over something as feeble as forgetting to take out the trash. It happened to be in a moment of provocation regarding unwanted affections towards the blonde. She had found a list plastered on the fridge reminding her which medications she needed to take to continue boosting her still fragile immune system.

A _hand-written _note signed by Emma.

In that moment she had been overwhelmed by all kinds of emotions just as she had been when she discovered Emma’s previous compass.

Regina must have remained quiet for far too long, tell-tale lines of frustration formed on her forehead, and Emma thought it meant she was growing aggravated.

The witcher shrugged her shoulders and if she had been able, she would have held her hands up in defense. 

‘Not that I’m blaming you for my oversight. I should have been more vigilant. I mean, I’m _always _vigilant of my surroundings. I just—’ she cut herself off, falling short with her words.

The brunette’s frown deepened at the witcher’s lack of words, even as she mumbled an apology of shorts. For what, Regina wasn’t entirely sure, but she soon found it to be a little difficult to keep her eye-contact with Emma.

She cleared her throat and ignored Ruby’s gaping self when her cheeks warmed slightly under the intrusive gaze.

‘You ought to be more careful, witcher,’ chastised Regina, trying and failing to remain stern. ‘You might nearly as well have gotten yourself and Miss Lucas killed because of your careless actions. What if it had been Jefferson’s killer who came waltzing in here with the attitude of being out for a Sunday stroll?’

Emma nodded, self-disappointment pooling in her usually unexpressive orbs. It made the brunette gulp that much harder.

She forced a scowl on her face and then directed it towards Ruby.

‘And you? What on earth were you preoccupied with?’ Regina caught a glimpse of a spilled carton and her scowl deepened. ‘Making love to your Chinese _noodles_, no doubt. Honestly, do our taxes only pay for your rent and the junk you shovel into your mouth?’

‘Hey, I have a fast metabolism, too.’

‘Yes, which you prioritize over _your_ _job_.’ Regina turned towards Emma, cutting off what Ruby would have tossed out in self-defense. ‘What exactly did Pan, and his _sidekick _want from you, Miss Swan?’

Ruby turned towards Emma, also curious in what had transpired between her friend and the boys. It took all Regina’s willpower not to roll her eyes at the fact that the wolf had been unconscious during the proceedings.

Emma grew quiet, the cogs turning tirelessly inside her mind. Given the veil over the witcher’s eyes, the sleeping powder had not yet worn off completely, making the past few hours a bit of a blur. 

‘Well,’ the witcher clicked her tongue, glancing towards the wall. ‘We talked about you—’

‘Me?’ Regina raised an eyebrow.

‘—riddles, you, about some stupid prophecy, about you some more—’

‘My, my, Miss Swan, do you discuss me with every wanted felon you come into conversation with?’

Emma made a sound of disapproval at being interrupted, but she didn’t counter for the simple reason of refusing to acknowledge any attempt at playful banter. It seemed the witcher was a bit touchy after the encounter with her admirer.

‘Oh, alright,’ she relented ruefully. ‘What else did you discuss, Miss Swan?’

‘Apparently, the kid has proof that Scar is somehow responsible for Jefferson’s death.’

Regina’s eyes widened at this. She knew how much Emma had been agonizing over the case and how difficult it has been for their son to come to terms with the sudden shift in Grace’s life. If the boy wasn’t lying, then this could be their first breakthrough.

‘That’s great,’ said Ruby, voicing what all involved thought. ‘The question now, though, is if we can trust the kid or not?’

‘I trust the kid about as far as Henry can throw me.’ Emma set her jaw. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t exactly have a choice in the matter. He said he wants to meet with me next week at 4. I’m assuming it’s next week Wednesday.’

‘That gives us some time to formulate some kind of a plan.’ Regina bit her nail in thought, her mind running rampant.

All she had learned that this Pan might not be as dangerous as they had initially thought. The boy had come to their salvation before and now he was offering to aid in their investigation. Hopefully, the boy truly was the concerned citizen he claimed himself to be and wanted to do the right thing. However, that didn’t mean he didn’t worry Regina any less.

Pan had subdued Emma and Ruby. They were the two most powerful members of the town’s police forced. Not only did the boy seemingly possess unfathomable power, but he had some tricks up his sleeve as well. One did not simply trust a trickster by nature. Especially one who could just as easily take away the deliverance he offered.

‘Great,’ deadpanned Ruby. ‘In the meantime, could you maybe help us out of these?’

* * *

Dr. William Whale had a tiring day. 

Seeing patient, after patient, after patient would take its toll on anyone, no matter if they enjoyed their profession like he did or not.

He wished that at the end of the day, he had someone to go home to like David and Mary Margaret, like Emma and Regina. He might be the town’s casanova and he enjoyed his appreciation of women’s attributes far more than it was publicly acceptable, but he longed for a connection, too.

Like most days, he found himself in his office, nursing a glass of whiskey as he mulled over endless amounts of paperwork. He often left most until the last minute, either too tired after his long shifts or far too lazy to get any real work finished.

When the lights blew out, he wasn’t exactly pleased or even thrilled for that matter. He had been meaning to discuss the hospital’s budget with Regina, but he never makes the time to call her assistant. Mainly because of how things ended between them last.

He stood, lighting up the room with his cellphone and began to struggle his way through the maze of an office. He flipped the light switch on and off, but the room remained pitch black. Whale sighed, dragging a tired hand over his face. He desperately needed to make an appointment with Mayor Mills. Whether it would be awkward with Nancy or not.

Whale turned the knob of the door and walked down the hallway. The rest of the hospital was illuminated just fine and the problem lay only in his personal working space. Whether it was simply a faulty fuze, or sheer bad luck, he would have to address it if he wanted to get in a few more hours of work.

As he continued at his steady pace, he failed to notice three hooded figures stepping out of their concealed hiding places.


	10. Following the Thread

It came as a surprise that Heritage Park seemed to be more occupied than usual. Especially on a weekday. Kids ran around with their arms flailing while parents gave chase with great looks of concern painted across their features. Some elderly folk sat by the benches, playing a friendly game of chess or checkers. Couples smiled and cuddled against each other despite the humid weather. 

Relatively, it was a normal sight to witness as far as most were concerned. That was probably why Pan had chosen it in case Emma and her deputies would attempt something carelessly reckless. So, unfortunately for the law enforcers they were going to need to be creative when it came to capturing the elusive boy.

As Emma glanced around, surveying every inch of the area, she couldn’t help but think to a time when she had wanted it all; the house, the spouse, the white picket fence... the children. It wasn’t an option and wouldn’t ever be again. Because of their mutations witchers were sterile and couldn’t have any biological offspring. Henry had been her only chance at a family.

The crackling of the earpiece drew her attention away from the laughing children to where Regina sat at the far edge of the park pretending to read a book—her sunglasses concealing her mysterious brown orbs.

‘_Do you see him, Miss Swan?_’

‘I didn’t allow you to come along to badger me every two-to-four minutes, Regina.’

‘_I’m not _badgering _you._’ Emma could hear the woman roll her eyes. ‘_To badger is to repeatedly and annoyingly ask someone. I have done no such thing. I’m merely... checking in. This is an Operation after all, and it is important to compare information when given the opportune._’

Emma drummed her fingers against the bench, pointedly looking anywhere except at the brunette. ‘It’s badgering, Regina.’

‘_Your parents _badger. _I _nudge_._’

‘Yes, of course, your majesty. My apologies.’ Regina looked up at her and Emma imagined the glare before the sorceress even lowered her sunglasses.

Emma barely blinked when she caught the stray soccer ball close to colliding with her head. Her steely amber nearly caused the brave girl jogging over to turn on her heels and make for the nearest town passed the town line, but Emma simply returned the ball without so much as a sound. The girl smiled at her and then took off running again.

There were too many casualties if their plan went sideways.

Pan was more powerful than any of them anticipated and given that he was writing spells at the age of eight, he was much smarter than anyone could give him credit for. Pan was volatile, unpredictable and if they weren’t careful, then a lot of innocent people could be injured in their quest for answers and knowledge.

‘_Do you see him yet_?’

‘No, Regina.’

It was like clockwork. At least Regina had the pride to feign indifference and attempted to approach the subject in a way that spoke volumes for her self-control. She was also far less annoying then David and Mary Margaret had been before she had left the loft, solely fueled on what little knowledge they had dug up about Pan’s prophecy.

Which had been nothing; a bust, a complete dead end that made Emma feel pathetic.

However, Emma would enjoy some peace and quiet while she awaited the trying conversation ahead. Her companion, including the deputies spread out in the woods, lacked one crucial quality; the ability to be silent.

For a moment, Emma entertained the idea of removing the earpiece until Pan would show himself—the event officially putting Operation Candy Van Man. She would then be clear of mind and isolated from Regina’s incessant questioning, eliminating the migraine her parents had caused half an hour prior. She would have reached for the offending device, too, when she made the grave mistake of stealing another glance at Regina. Immediately, guilt gnawed at the witcher’s insides and she dropped her hand back onto her thigh.

Despite it having been several months since her sabbatical in the Enchanted Forest, she was still new to having people care for her, and vice versa. But, she supposed, a _normal _person wouldn’t abandon their friends who are under a lot of stress. Besides, the poor woman was at the end of her rope because of Emma.

At every turn—every opportunity, David had been flying off the handle. He had raged from Emma’s credibility as a witcher to her position as sheriff and then happily began the witcher’s flaws and the many mistakes in her past all over the span on a single week. Even now, he insisted a joint operation between the Sheriff station and the convent. Mother Superior, too, found herself amid the law enforcers, standing by with a stasis spell. Thus far, Emma hadn’t lost her temper, especially when someone deliberate tried to anger her.

Unfortunately, that meant Henry and Regina took the brunt of her frustrations.

The least Emma could do now was keep the brunette company during her cataclysm. So, the witcher released a little sigh and crossed her arms resignedly over her chest, and bite the bullet...

‘_What exactly had the infuriating little twerp told you?_’

...which, considering Regina’s current state, was about as painless as excoriation.

‘To meet him in Heritage Park this week at four ‘o’ clock. He said I shouldn’t be late.’

‘_The boy knows so little about punctuation, yet he has the audacity to warn you against it._’ Regina scoffed. ‘_I swear—if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s _your _son_.’

‘Well, it’s a good thing I’m sterile, then.’

Emma couldn’t help the relieved sigh that escaped her lips. The way Regina’s head snapped back up made her realize her mistake too little too late. Just like Emma wouldn’t tell Henry about the female conquests she’s had over the past ten years, she also wouldn’t tell Regina— and for great reasons, too.

A nagging voice in the back of the witcher’s head told her she had just managed to skillfully get herself stuck between a rock and a hard place. She was never going to hear the end of this.

‘_What’s _that _supposed to mean?_’

Yup. Deep trouble.

‘Nothing, Regina.’ 

‘_Well, it doesn’t _sound _like _nothing._ Dare I say, it had sounded like _something.’

Emma groaned.

It was a poor attempt to backtrack from the colossal face-dive-off-a-cliff she was about to experience, but she had to at least try.

‘I think it’s safe to say that anyone wouldn’t want some kid showing up on their doorstep claiming to be the result of a one-night stand, Regina.’

‘_So, it’s true, then—the infamous, white lioness finds comfort in the beds of various women? Have you seduced many into nights of passion, Miss Swan?_’ Her bitter tone made Emma think of how uncomfortable a night on the couch would be, even when Regina had no right to kick her out of the guest room and delegate her to the piece of furniture. Then again, she knew better than to cross Regina Mills when she had set her mind on being difficult.

‘I don’t talk about my exes until, at least, the third date.’ Emma smirked, shamelessly shrugging her shoulders. ‘You’ll have to do a lot better than try and goad me, Regina. I don’t just bark merrily and roll over when I’m told.’

‘_That’s not entirely true. You’re more than keen to drop everything for Henry and I_.’ The brunette seemed exceptionally pleased with herself if the grin playing on her lips had anything to say about it. ‘_What would you call such behavior if not compare it to the loyalty and humbleness of a golden retriever?_’

‘Well, I know what _I_’d call it, but _you_ couldn’t handle it.’

Regina sputtered, her book nearly dropping onto the ground as she flailed in indignation. Had she not remembered they were currently involved in a crucial operation that could mean life or death, she would have rose from the bench and marched over to Emma. If the witcher had luck on her side, she might have gotten off with being throttled for answers.

‘_Excuse me?_’ Emma bit back another smirk. ‘_If anything, it is _you_ who couldn’t handle _me.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ Emma’s tone dropped a few octaves—a husky sound sending thrills down Regina’s spine. Even with the distance between them, Emma could see the effect she had on the brunette. ‘Even if, compared to you, I’d rather barrel headfirst into a fight with a griffin—’

‘_Was there supposed to be a compliment in there, Miss Swan?_’

‘There would have been, had you not interrupted me.’

‘_Ladies,_’ Blue’s chipper tone echoed through the line. ‘_I think there’s a time and place for such... _discussions_. I think it would be in everyone’s best interest to focus on the task at hand_.’

‘_Ah, yes. The task you were exploited into taking a part of for the greater good_,’ Regina drawled, the smirk clear in her voice. ‘_How does it feel, Blue—being on the side of the Evil Queen and a witcher? It must baffle you that we’re actually not that different from you lot?_’

‘_Regina, you and I are _very _different. I have a conscience, as soul. The same cannot be said for you?_’

‘_What does that moral compass of yours say about stringing up Miss Swan like a martyr? Suddenly doesn’t live up to your expectations of what a savior _should _look like and you hang her out to dry?_’

‘_I did... I did no such thing, Regina. I would _never_—_’

‘Enough,’ Emma whispered sharply, her authoritative tone cutting through their conversation. ‘As you said, Mother Superior, there is a time and place for these things. So, let’s all agree to put the claws away and stop talking about someone when they’re _sitting right here_.’

Mother Superior, despite her many... _many _shortcomings, grunted out a form of an apology. Which was the best Emma expected given their circumstances.

‘Regina?’

Through gritted teeth, Regina offered her the last thing Emma thought to receive. ‘_Sorry_.’

Emma was about to comment but cut herself off. Three figures drew her attention from the women and their ever-growing distain for one another.

She recognized them.

_Shenzi._

_Banzai._

_Ed._

The three stooges that work for _Merry Men’s Pizza_—the one and the same men and woman that actively participated in the Outsiders' gang, and whose mugshots were proudly displayed on their "murder board". 

When Ruby had gone to talk with Robin, the man had little complaints to make against them. They were less than ideal employees, but they followed their twelve steps programs to the ‘T’. Little of their irrational behavior was expressed at work and they never disrupted their co-workers or their customers.

If one could look passed their previous list of crimes, they were saints on paper for the past six months.

They walked with purpose, glancing around every now and then in case they were being followed, or if someone were to notice them.

Fortunately for Emma, they had no clue on what to look for specifically, and they thus failed to notice her cat-like eyes boring holes into their sides.

‘Hey, Ruby?’

A moment passed, but the wolf responded a moment later. ‘_Yeah, boss?_’

‘Why would Shenzi and her two lackeys be out for an afternoon stroll?’

‘_Beats me. I’ve been having a CI sit in on 'em just to make sure that they’re not up to no good. I got their work schedules memorized. Right now, Shenzi's supposed to be working a double shift._’

Emma pulled her cellphone out of her pocket. Sixteen-hundred hours on the dot. 

What was the chance that Pan had played her?

He had no intention of showing up, but every intention of leading Emma to a discovery of her own. Pan must have noticed their pattern of movements and every day the three of them would pass through Heritage Park at four to wherever it is that they went.

Scar might be skilled in the arts of deception and his day to day movements, but it appeared his lapdogs (or lap-_hyenas_) lacked the same necessary skillsets.

‘Change of plans.’ Emma casually rose to her feet, making a point of staring at her cellphone. She kept the three hyenas in view, watching as they weaved through the crowd. ‘I’m going after them.’

‘_What?_’ Regina barked. ‘_That’s not the plan—what will happen when Pan arrives and you’re nowhere in sight?_’

‘The kid isn’t coming. He played us. The so called "proof" he has is those three dumbasses and they’re getting away.’

‘_Boss, we’ve been setting up this operation for a week, now_,’ Will pointed out. ‘_You can’t be expectin' us to just drop everything on yer hunch_.’

‘Stay here, then. Let me know if the kid _does _show himself.’

‘_Miss Swan—_’

‘You should stay here, Regina. No offense but tracking through the mud and grime isn’t exactly your shtick. You’ll be like—’

‘_A ball and chain?_’

‘Planned to say it a little gentler, but yeah.’

‘_Fine, we’ll do as you say. If the need arises, I’m at your beck and call_.’

Emma hesitated, briefly stopping in her tracks. Even for criminals on a mission, the hyenas took their damn sweet time to walk down the pathway. At that pace, it would be hours before they step into the tree line and make a break for wherever they were going.

‘Thought you might object.’

‘_Me? Please. I can be extraordinarily _conciliatory.’

The witcher’s mouth pulled into a thin line, and she could here the snickers of her subordinates crackling through the earpiece. 

‘Regina, tell me right now—what are you plotting?’

‘_How to seize your mother’s crown. How to sell your precious, yellow deathtrap out from under you. Go already, Miss Swan. If you’re lucky, you’ll easily pick up on the barbarians' scent._’

Against her better judgement, Emma blew out a sigh and followed the suspicious characters. A nagging voice told her that she would soon regret not being more attentive to the playful smile on Regina’s features.

* * *

Emma hadn’t been too far off when she had unintentionally said Regina would be a _ball and chain_. Trudging through the woods in boots was trying, even on her best days, but trudging through them in six-inch-heels did her no favors.

Momentarily, she considered turning back and doing as Emma had told, but the stubborn part of her—the part cultivated from years under her mother’s thumb and ruling an entire realm with an iron fist—won out. The thought of Emma meeting willingly with Pan had been hard to stomach, and the idea of her facing Scar or even three of the imbeciles doing his bidding was even less obedient to go down.

What had possessed her to bring someone like Scar over in the curse, she would never understand. Sometimes she wondered if he could possibly be worse than her mother and if he scared her even more than the infuriating woman had.

Regina swallowed thickly, forcing away unwanted thoughts as she continued ahead. She tucked a stray lock behind her ear and spoke into the small, hidden mic in her bodice. It still amazed her that Emma had managed to find the money to purchase such equipment given the pathetic budget she had to work with—by curtesy of the councilmen and their greedy pockets. Then again, Emma often bought things from her own pocket money—the money she had saved from her days in the Enchanted Forest.

‘Miss Lucas?’

The earpiece came to life almost immediately. It was good to know she still struck terror in the hearts of others when it was needed the most. ‘_Yes, Madame Mayor?_’

‘Has the little weasel made his debut?’

‘_Negative. There’s still no sign of anyone other than the locals from my side_.’

‘Deputy Fa?’

‘_The Northside is clear_.’

‘Alright. Mister Scarlet?’

‘_..._’

‘_Mister _Scarlet?’

‘_..._’

‘_Mister _Scarlet?!’

Another moment passed and all she heard was a muffle on the other end of the line, until... ‘_What the bloody hell, is it, woman?!_’ Will’s voice boomed out and she nearly fell flat on her refined buttocks. The shout nearly shattered her eardrum and she needed to stop to assess the damage done. A painful groan was elicited from each of the other women on the line. ‘_I’m in the middle of an important conversation here and—Yeah, tell me about it._’ He paused and Regina could hear the faint mutterings from some or other creature. ‘_No, no. It’s not you. She’s not the easiest person to get close to. There’s a wall there. Trust me._’

Regina pinched the bridge of her nose. She didn’t know _who _he was talking to or _why_ Emma insisted on keeping him employed, especially when he slacked off more than he contributed to the department, but she was seconds away from breaking Emma and Henry’s trust by setting Will Scarlet on fire.

‘_Will, for the love of the gods_,’ Ruby huffed. ‘_Are you _**_talking _**_to that squirrel, again?_’

‘_I was a Junior Chipmunk growin' up. I had to be versed in all the woodland creatures_.’

‘_Was this before, or after you became a thief?_’ Mulan chimed in.

‘_Well, before. Me life was pretty normal until me parents had gone off to war._’ Will gave a wistful sigh. ‘_Until then, animals had been my only friends_.’

‘_Oh, how wonderful_,’ hummed Blue. ‘_I heard they still hold meetings. If you’re interested, I could help you—_’

‘Oh, my _gods_!’ Regina snapped. ‘You are tasked with the simplest responsibility—which is to sit in a tree and keep an eye out for a potentially dangerous criminal with powers beyond the comprehension of your wall-nut sized brain—and instead you converse with a _squirrel_?’

‘_..._’

‘Mister Scarlet, do you or do you not see any changes on your end?’

‘_Uh, no, ma'am. Nothin' but branches and leaves on my end_.’

‘Very well, I haven’t found Miss Swan yet, but I’ll radio in if I do.’ She reached up a hand to switch off the mic when she remembered something. ‘And for the love of the gods, _stop _yammering so senselessly into the microphone. You imbeciles are the reason I will need a hearing aid before I turn forty.’

‘_So to speak,_’ added Will.

Regina’s voice dropped several octaves as she clenched her fists. ‘What was that?’

‘_Nothing. Nothing. Let us know when you find the boss._’

No sooner had the sorceress switched off the infuriating device and took a single step forward to walk out from behind a tree, when a body collided with hers and forced her up against the nearest bark covered surface.

Her first reaction was to scream in fright, but a calloused hand grabbed for her mouth. The sound that escaped was nothing but a muffled cry that barely even carried passed the confinements of her and her attacker. She struggled against their strong grip, desperately trying to free her hands and defend herself when a familiar voice boomed in a whisper.

‘Stop, woman! It’s me! It’s me!’

Regina found herself looking into amber eyes. Her brows knitted together, and she shoved against Emma in her anger, unsatisfied when the witcher barely even budged an inch.

‘Are you _out of your mind_?! You gave me a heart—’

Emma’s hand recovered the woman’s mouth and she pressed herself up against Regina for a second time. The pressure she applied wasn’t suffocating, not as she expected anyone else's presence would have been. However, despite her mild enjoyment of their proximity, Emma’s hand had once again reattached itself to her lips.

Before she could shout in her muffled tone, the witcher gave her a firm look and tilted her head sideways. Emma looked at something ahead in the distance, her jaw setting in concentration. She then returned her attention to the woman underneath her touch. Intensity burned within those orbs and Regina had to bite the inside of her cheek to the point where she drew blood to prevent herself from blushing.

‘We seriously need to stop getting ourselves into these situations,’ she muttered, her eyes darting between Regina’s eyes and her lips. ‘I thought you’d said you agreed with me—that you would stay behind with the others?’

Regina raised an eyebrow. ‘Come now, Miss Swan. Did you really?’

‘We agreed you were a _ball and chain_.’

‘We also agreed that this was a team effort and yet you ventured on without even Miss Lucas to watch your back.’ The sorceress leaned forward; her face dangerously neutral. ‘So, here we are.’

‘You know I work better alone—all witchers do.’ Emma glanced away briefly, as if resigned to that fact, but she didn’t move to place some distance between them.

‘Ah, yes, the nonexistent witcher code you like to hide behind,’ Regina drawled in an exasperated tone. ‘Face it, Miss Swan, you’re just going to have to drag me along.’

Emma released an exasperated groan, but finally pushed away from Regina. She crossed her arms over her chest and grunted, ‘Fine, but if you fall behind, I’m not waiting for you.’

‘Such a _charming _princess.’

‘Such a _gentle _Queen.’ 

‘Please, like you’re such a saint, witcher.’ Regina rolled her eyes. 

‘At least I don’t pretend like I know everything, clueless-know-it-all.’

‘If anything, you’re a tactless brute.’

‘Pyromaniac.’

‘Vile mongrel,’ sniped Regina.

Emma shrugged, ‘Stick-up-your-ass prude.’

‘Perverted exhibitionist.’

‘You’re not a ball of sunshine, either.’ Emma stepped past Regina, gracelessly attempting to end their argument. ‘Living with you is like sleeping on a bed of nails.’

‘And living with you is like stepping into a brothel. Your room smells like it, too.’ The sorceress bristled at the thought of Emma bringing some strange _woman _into their house where they ate dinner with their son or generally sleeping with another woman, but she didn’t speak such thoughts aloud. ‘Would it kill you to take a shower after you’ve had your way with some wayward wench?’

‘Please, like I have time to satisfy my libido with your high-maintenance ass and all the shit in this crazy-ass town. I practically function on cold showers and anaphrodisiacs.’

Regina’s heel caught on a stone and she nearly toppled over. Emma easily looped an arm around her waist, her face painfully stoic.

‘So...’ she drawled, unable to meet Emma’s amber orbs, ‘since living with Henry and I, you haven’t...?’

‘No, Regina. I haven’t been shagging some chick behind your back.’

The redness of Regina’s cheeks quickly began to spread to her ears. She pushed Emma off her, nearly toppling over again in her haste to place some distance between herself and the witcher.

‘We’re not... You and I aren’t...’ she huffed in frustration at her lack of verbal expression. ‘You can _shag _whomever you want. It’s no concern of mine.’

Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, _really_?’

‘Yes, _Miss Swan_,’ she gritted out through her teeth. ‘I’m not your keeper.’

The witcher frowned, offended by Regina’s words. The question was _why_? 

A vague memory of a certain compass flashed in her mind’s eye, but Regina pushed it back to the far corners of her mind and bit down on the feelings that had began to flutter in her stomach. 

Emma couldn’t possibly be in love with her or share any other affections beyond that shared between _co-parents_. But even as she had said it, the words left her gasping for breath. It was as if someone had rammed their fist into her stomach and there was nothing, she could do but stand by and watch. She might be disillusioned what Emma felt, but it was clear as day what had creeped up on her without her permission.

Regina _liked _Emma.

Desperately trying to wipe away the thought, Regina moved to step passed Emma. The witcher seemed to have other plans. In a matter of seconds, she had once again pressed Regina up against the nearest tree, covering the woman with her whole body.

‘_Miss Swan_! Are you going to make a habit out of manhandling—’ The first shot cut her off from her verbal displeasure followed by several more as a rain of lead poured down upon them. Regina could help the surprised sound that escaped her.

‘Fuck,’ Emma muttered, angry with herself for allowing Regina to distract her. ‘They must have heard us.’

‘What was your first clue?’

Splinters flew past them and Emma lifted her arm to shield Regina’s eyes. The sorceress pressed herself closer to Emma, hiding herself in the safety of the witcher’s embrace. 

Regina had never been involved in a shooting. There had been few in town as far as Emma had been aware, yet reality dawned on her that this was Emma’s daily life—deliberately placing herself in danger for the safety of others. Even now, she curled herself protectively around Regina, no matter if it dawned on Emma that the woman could protect herself.

Shouts filled the air and the shooters moved in closer. Emma stole a peak around the tree, only to yank it back a moment later when another chunk of wood splintered across the forest floor.

The witcher muttered a few curses, amongst them being a few colorful phrases directed towards the criminals.

A few minutes passed, and they had yet to see another rain of bullets directed towards them. Emma stood her ground, still not moving from her protective stance, as she clenched her jaw.

Then, into the silence, a voice called out. Regina recognized the delinquent to be male. ‘Oi, sheriff! What’s cookin' good lookin'?’

Regina bristled at the question.

‘Why don’t we settle this score fair and square?’ Banzai continued, his tone much too confident. ‘Three against one? Winner gets to walk away—loser...’

‘Gets dead!’ Shenzi shouted, sending the other two into a fit of laughter.

Regina rolled her eyes. What did she expect from a couple of _uncouth shifters_? Not to mention, they happily reprised their roles as stereotypical gangsters; too much brawn, not enough brain.

‘Seems a little unfair to me,’ Emma called back, reaching for the pistol tucked away in the crook of her leather pants. Such a shame, too, that the witcher wasn’t just happy to see Regina. ‘You better call on a couple more buddies. You’re severely outnumbered against me. And against Regina... well, you’d need about fifty more.’

‘What?’ Shenzi sounded offended, annoyance echoing through the air. ‘I could fuck you up by myself, _pillow princess._’

‘If both of my hands were tied behind my back and I had a bag over my head—Actually, not even then.’

‘Oh, that’s it!’

Several more shots whizzed passed their heads, and Regina all but growled as she ignited a fireball in the palm of her hand.

_This ought to be _ ** _fun_ ** _._

* * *

It took a total of 0.2 seconds to conclude that Operation Candy Van Man and been a complete and utter failure upon the arrest of the three stooges.

Emma was somehow in even more of a foul mood, if that had even been remotely possible, and Regina was just about ready to skin a kitty cat. There seemed to be a privileged male from every corner of the world, and it seemed unfortunate that Storybrooke was littered with them.

The one she currently had an eye on would make for a handsome throw rug.

Upon interrogation, Shenzi, Banzai and Ed were loyal to a fault. 

Or well, Shenzi and Banzai were loyal to a fault while Ed was a halfwit with a resting vacant expression that seemed to be plastered to his forehead.

Neither one had been willing to offer up any form of information, refusing to even speak illy of Scar. It was most likely because they respected him that much, or they feared him far more than what Emma would ever be able to do to him.

Regina and the witcher didn’t exchange words when she and Ruby finally stepped out of the interrogation room—cheeks flushed, knuckles bloody—and she also didn’t acknowledge the new shiners Shenzi sported below her eyes. In her opinion, the ongoings had been self-explanatory.

Emma shoved Shenzi into Will, the man nearly toppling over at the force, before he led the sulking hyena to her designated cell. They would be moved to the asylum in the morning, until they knew what to do with them, but for now they would be keeping the nightshift company.

‘So, all of us had utterly wasted our time here today?’ she growled when Emma and Ruby stood before her. ‘I suffered through Mother Superior’s incessant yammering for nothing?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say for nothing.’ Ruby shrugged, flitting her gaze between her boss and the volatile mayor. ‘When we booked them, I matched their fingerprints to the crime scenes. Shenzi’s were a match for what we found in Jefferson’s house and all three of them had been involved in Whale’s kidnapping.’

‘Oh, congratulations are in order, then?’ Regina snarled, narrowing her eyes. ‘You’ve managed to put three simpletons, _lapdogs _behind bars when the orchestrator of these crimes is still at large. Had I the time and the crayons, I’d be able to explain why none of us are in a celebratory mood.’

Ruby raised an eyebrow. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned to look at Emma, as if the witcher could explain the verbal assault.

‘Don’t take it too personally,’ the witcher offered. ‘It’s been a long and stressful day. Plus, need I remind you, she had to play nice with someone named Ruel Ghorm for the better part of three hours.’

‘Mother Superior isn’t _that _bad.’

Regina scoffed. ‘I’m going to give you a moment to think about what you’ve said before I address it.’ She turned to Emma. ‘So, Miss Swan, what’s the verdict? Where do we go from here?’

‘Well,’ Emma placed her hands onto her hips, ‘they’re not going to budge and since I have signed confessions and DNA evidence linking them to the crimes, I have no choice but to charge them with murder and kidnapping. My hands are tied.’

‘Then, untie them,’ Regina snapped. ‘Make them turn on Scar, make them admit—’

‘I already tried that. I used my _Axii _sign, and while a powerful way to help persuade subjects of doing what I want them to or tell me what I want them to, they didn’t budge. Scar must have done something to them, something I can’t trace or pick up. Evidently, he’s locked me out of their minds without any kind of loophole.’

Regina released a furious growl and sent a chair flying against the nearest wall with the mere flicker of her wrist. Eyes widened within the confines of the station as they turned to stare at the seething brunette. With a sharp glare, the man and women hurriedly returned to their paperwork, deciding it best to end the day with their hearts still inside their chests.

Emma’s lip pulled up into a disapproving snarl but held her tongue on the matter of the abused furniture. ‘I don’t like this anymore than you do, but the fact remains—this isn’t the Enchanted Forest and I can’t just hack away at every problem presented to me.’

‘He had your friend, a thirteen-year-old’s _father_, murdered in cold blood. Gods know what he is currently doing to Whale—not that I’m fond of the blundering quack in anyway—but not even he deserves to be at the mercy of that beast.’ Regina took a step forward, invading Emma’s personal space. ‘Scar is a _monster_. The last time I checked, you didn’t cut deals with them; you cut them down.’

‘My gods, Regina.’ Emma’s own temper flared. ‘There are rules here, rules we need to follow. What kind of example would I be setting for Henry if I just marched into Irons' office and gutted him from naval to throat?’

The sorceress calmed at the mention of their son, as Emma had anticipated she would. A painfully guilty expression made its way onto her olive features and she looked down in shame.

‘Look,’ Emma softened, dragging a hand through her ponytail, ‘today didn’t go as planned, but we took three criminals off the street. It’s not big, but I’ll take a small win any day in times like these. Scar knows we’re on to him, he’ll try and step more carefully, but we’ll be there when he makes a mistake.’

Ruby nodded. ‘For now, we go on with things until the right opportunity presents itself. We’ll get him, don’t worry.’

‘Before or after he has someone killed again?’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ Emma reassured boldly. ‘We’re having him watched, we’re having his people watched. Scar won’t be able to wipe his own ass without us knowing.’

It was a crass statement, but it gained the desired effect. Regina released a half-hearted laugh, lightly smacking Emma’s arm. ‘Must you be so uncouth.’

‘What I lack in certain areas, I make up exponentially in others.’

Regina’s eyes flashed mischievously. ‘Oh, I’m quite sure you do, _Miss Swan_.’

Ruby awkwardly cleared her throat, coughing into her hand, ‘_Get a room_.’

Snickers echoed through the station, even collective laughs from the hyenas added to the flush of Regina’s bright red cheeks.

‘_Miss Lucas_!’

‘Sorry, I’ve had a frog in my throat since this morning.’

Emma rolled her eyes, ‘I’m sure.’

‘Anyways, there’s something else we gotta discuss.’ Ruby reached into her jeans back pocket and retrieved a card. ‘When you radioed us about the arrests, we graciously left the park unattended. Mulan and I had a gut feeling, so we went back.’

She handed the typewritten message over to Emma:

** _Be prepared, Mistress Witcher._ **

** _There’s a storm coming._ **

** _—P_ **

‘Be prepared?’ Regina read aloud, her brows furrowing in confusion. ‘Be prepared for what?’

Ruby shrugged her shoulders. ‘I have no idea but check the back.’

Emma flipped it over and raised an eyebrow.

‘What the _hell_?’ Regina snarled.

** _P.S. You’ll know what to do:_ **

** _"Powers of dark and light_ **

** _Forces of good and evil_ **

** _Align thy stars"_ **

** _"Protect all that is_ **

** _Guide all that will be_ **

** _And heal what once was"_ **

** _"Scent of apple tart and lilac sweet_ **

** _Entwine thy fate with thee"_ **

** _"Lost little lion, amber-eyed knight_ **

** _Bind thy fortunes"_ **


	11. An Interlude Of Sorts

A sigh escaped Regina’s lips and she reached up to rub her tired eyes. The dim lighting of the sheriff station did little to help quell the migraine forming in her head and Will’s incessant need to click his pen.

Contrary to her current mood, Regina generally enjoyed paperwork and research. It was entertaining to search up details otherwise hidden beneath the surface and she had always enjoyed the wondrous distraction it offered. Especially in a time where Henry had done nothing but loathe her.

Now, however, she wanted to go home, take a warm shower and settle in for the rest of her evening. She had half the mind to instruct Emma that she should finish this at the mansion, where they could eat a hot meal and try to pretend their lives didn’t involve little boys with masks, shapeshifting criminals and soul-binding incantations.

What made the experience that much more unbearable was that Emma seemed particularly quiet this evening. Her mood had somewhat improved—no longer scowling at each and every presented opportunity—since the arrests they’ve made, but it had nothing to do with the cases that continued to pile onto her desk or the list of since that grew under Scar’s colorful monicker,  _ Jeremy Irons _ .

It had something to do with the  charming  idiots.

How did she know? Well, Emma wasn’t much for sharing her feelings on matters of the heart, or express them for that matter, but Regina knew the woman well. Their history, their connection to Henry, their fate as the Savior and the Evil Queen—it was almost impossible for them  not  to understand each other.

Inevitably, Regina knew how to read Emma Swan.

The witcher had various tells, which often gave away what she felt. When she was angry, she’d pull her lips into a thin line in an attempt to reign in her self-control. When she was upset, she’d shag her shoulders and her bright amber would dim slightly. Those were all just small things Regina had managed to catch on to over the course of living with Emma.

However, she had a specific tell when it came to David and Mary Margaret. She would remain utterly silent, even when Will’s clicking annoyed her far more than it did Regina. The sorceress imagined that her enhanced senses dialed the noise up several notches. And yet, she sat quietly, brooding over the hundreds of thousands of books they had gone through to gain a better understanding of who, or what, Pan could be.

‘You’re awfully quiet tonight.’ Regina didn’t bother to look up from the book in her lap. ‘Committed to studying the literary art of elvish much more carefully this time?’

The inquiry grabbed Emma’s attention. She released an insufferable groan and leaned back into her chair. ‘Mary Margaret told you, didn’t she?’

‘She might have let it slip the last time you faced off in a battle of literary witticism.’ Leisurely, she licked her thumb before she turned the page. ‘I’m not overly fond of your mother, but I’ll eagerly make an exception if I get to hear more about your more embarrassing feats.’

‘In my defense, how was I supposed to know that incantation meant, "Begone and plow yourself"?’

‘You should have studied foreign languages.’

Emma grunted. ‘Are you and my mother going to be bringing this up for the rest of my life?’

‘Of course.’

The witcher’s shoulders slumped, but she wasn’t upset with Regina or the teasing. The banter had barely managed to dent her hard shell, and Regina could tell that something heavy rested on Emma’s shoulders.

Regina flicked her wrist and the office door shut with a loud  thwack . Will’s head darted up, as did Milah’s, but the frowns on their faces were the only indication of their shock. She paid them little mind as they went back to work, patiently waiting for Emma to speak.

‘My mother told me she’s been thinking about divorcing David.’

.

.

.

Regina blinked rapidly.

Of all the things she had thought would come out of the savior’s mouth, it certainly hadn’t been  _ that _ !

Robbing Snow of her happiness had been something Regina had obsessed over for years. She spent the better part of her twenties plotting away, wasting her time and energy when she could have valued those years.

Now, Emma was a grown woman—some would say the exact opposite of who any mother their daughter wanted to be—and Snow’s marriage was up in flames...

And she didn’t feel a thing—not happiness, not relief or overwhelming excitement. She felt...  nothing.  Like an empty shell, or a broken vase.

Then there was Emma.

Her kind and caring witcher that defied every universal law.

Emma looked downright heartbroken. At least, that’s what she gathered from the way Emma’s face scrunched up. Regina had never seen a witcher cry, she imagined them incapable, but the water gathering behind the blonde’s eyes certainly wasn’t a trick of the light.

‘W—Why?’

The witcher shrugged. ‘They fight. A lot. They can’t agree on anything, and when they do it’s just because they’re tired of fighting all the time.’

‘I—I’m afraid I don’t understand.’ Regina’s frown deepened. ‘I thought they were happy to be together again after all you and your mother had gone through?’

Emma looked up at her, brows knitting together in genuine confusion. It occurred to Regina that the witcher was baffled by the statement, and she instantly knew she had been an oblivious fool for the past... well, ever since Emma and Mary Margaret’s return.

‘They’ve... they’ve always been inseparable,’ she mused aloud. ‘I thought that... Well, I thought that—’

‘You really haven’t notice?’ Emma didn’t laugh. All teasing or remnants of bantering were gone from her voice. She just stared at Regina with a somber glint in her eyes.

‘I... well, I...’

What did one say in these situations? Her friend had just told her, her parents were divorcing, and she couldn’t very well just sit there gaping like a fish.

Emma, bless her soul, didn’t press the matter any further. She just returned her gaze to the book she had closed, her eyes distant and lost in memories.

‘I... It’s my fault this is happening. Everything’s always  my  fault.’

‘ Em-ma. ’ Regina leaned forward, eyes softening. She rose from her seat and sat down next to Emma on the desk. ‘You don’t actually think that, do you?’

‘Well, isn’t it?’ The witcher growled but didn’t move to stand up. She continuously clenched and unclenched her hands, her breathing treacherously calm. ‘They’re fighting because of me—because I’m a  freak . I heard him. David said it.’

Regina imagined Emma had heard that word numerous times and had never thought to address it. The fact that the idiot of a man had said it must be the reason why Emma would mention it.

She remained silent before reaching out to take Emma’s fists into her hands. The witcher didn’t resist her, and Regina imagined she never would.

They sat like this for a moment, their chests heaving with emotions they have been incapable of expressing thus far. It left them exhausted, yet somehow refreshed—a wonderful contradiction that seemed natural to them.

After some time, Emma broke her gaze from their hands. ‘We don’t normally do this.’

‘No. No, we don’t.’

‘It’s... It’s nice. Doing something other than banter.’

‘It is.’ Regina managed a small smile—barely an upturn of her lips, but it drew one from Emma, too. ‘It really is...  lovely .’

‘Being there for each other?’ Emma raised an eyebrow.

‘That’s one word for it...’ Regina leaned dangerously closer; her dark eyes hooded as they darted down to Emma’s pale lips. ‘I think I can think of a word that could describe it. Just give me a moment.’

The witcher’s cat-like eyes narrowed like a predator stalking its prey and she looked ready to pounce.

Regina was tired. Tired of ignoring these moments—of the raging hurricane of emotions that swirled within her chest when Emma stared at her like that.

One of Emma’s hands broke free from their entanglement, trailing up Regina’s waist and skimping over her skirts. She imagined that if the witcher wasn’t such a gentlewoman, she would have hiked the material up for further access.

Their lips were about to meet when the office door swung open.

‘Hey, boss, I just got a call about a disturbance over on—Oh, my gods!’ Will whipped his head around so quickly he might have given himself whiplash. ‘I, uh, I didn’t see nothin'!’

Emma growled pulling away from Regina as she stood. The sorceress took the interruption in stride, not at all ashamed or willing to be. Though, that didn’t stop her from becoming painfully aware she had nearly crossed a line with Emma that she would never be able to uncross.

Regina swallowed thickly, pushing herself off the desk and maneuvering her way back towards her seat away from Emma.

The witcher watched her retreat before she attempted to skin her deputy alive. ‘The hell you think a closed door means, Scarlet? An invitation not to fuckin' knock?’

‘Sorry, Sheriff.’ Will still hadn’t turned around, choosing to speak into the office rather than face them. ‘There... uh... there was a disturbance down at  Granny’s . Leroy and some other guy got into a fight.’

‘Okay, so take one of the others.’

‘I would have...’ he trailed off, awkwardly flapping his arms in slow motions. He finally turned to look at Emma. ‘But, uh, they stumbled up into the apartment above and ol' Missus Lucas shot Happy with her crossbow. We got ourselves a sticky situation on our hands and I wanted to check with you how we should proceed.’

Emma dragged a hand over her face, and Regina could barely bite back the unladylike snort that wanted to escape. The witcher turned to look at her with a blank expression settled onto her features.

‘No rest for the wicked, huh?’ The blonde teased, but Regina had a difficult time deciphering the hidden meaning behind the weighted words. ‘Are you gonna head home?’

‘Henry’s at a sleepover with Paige.’ Regina shrugged and spared a glance at their unfinished paperwork. ‘I think I’ll finish this at the mansion.’

The witcher nodded her head, then grabbed for the scabbards leaning against the desk. ‘This is probably going to take a while. I wouldn’t wait up if I were you.’

‘And you should know better than to tell me what to do.’ Regina waved her off, pursing her lips into a thin line. ‘I’ll see you when you come home. Perhaps we could see what’s on Netflix? There’s some films I’ve been wanting to watch, but I don’t want to do it alone.’

Will opened his mouth to comment, his intent clear at the spark of amusement in his eyes. However, Emma quickly rammed her hand into his stomach and caused him to nearly double over in pain.

‘Sure,’ she agreed. ‘I’ve got nothing better to do.’

Regina gave her a wry smile. Even if there had been something else, she knew the blonde would cancel it and rather enjoy the brunette’s company. The thought made her realize just how far they had come since Emma had first rolled into Storybrooke.

Uncharacteristically shy, Regina tucked a few stray locks of brown hair behind her ear, paying no mind to Will’s gaping expression.

‘Then, I’d  get to it , if I were  you .’ Her finger raised into the air as she tapped her nose. ‘I have an inkling that Missus Lucas isn’t all too thrilled to have been woken in the middle of the night, dressed in nothing but her shift nor Happy with an arrow lodge into his—’

Emma laughed; a full belly sound that made Will crane his neck to stare at her like she had completely lost her mind. She grabbed her deputy by the cuff of his jacket and began to drag him out the office.

‘Save some popcorn for me, will ya?’

* * *

‘Are you and Queenie doing the ol' tumble in the hay?’

‘Fuck off, Scarlet.’

‘ _ What _ _?_ 'Tis a legitimate question.’

‘And I’m going to legitimately shove my boot up your ass.’

‘Ye’re not even gonna hint at somethin'?’

‘Now why would I tip off the law enforcers where I’m going to hide your body?’

‘Because ye  are  a law enforcer. Now, tell me, are you?’

Emma contemplated pulling over and killing Will on the side of the road, but even if Leroy was an inebriated idiot, he disliked her well enough to be able to describe her misdeed in great detail. She would surely be crucified by the town if they knew she and her deputy had a bit of a misunderstanding over showing women respect.

It was a tale as old as time, really. The deputies liked to rile her up when it came to Regina and the impression, they had from watching Emma scramble to keep the Mills' happy and healthy. It was often the source of her foul mood other than when she had a confrontation with her father. Mainly because they were right.

She tried to ignore Will and attempted to focus on the road back to the station instead. David had the nightshift along with Mulan and for once Emma could go home earlier than usual. Or, what she allowed herself now that all leads pointing to Scar were exhausted.

Shenzi, Banzai and Ed had held to their stories. Insisted that they had killed Whale in cold blood, too, and then rode a boat out beyond the reef to dump his body. With no other evidence to go on they had no choice but to accept the confessions.

Emma was still investigating, but everything she uncovered continued to turn up empty.

Will waved a hand in front of her face, Emma’s wandering mind catching up with reality. She rammed her elbow into the man’s gut and drew a sharp gasp from him. She would be lying if she said she didn’t at least enjoy his discomfort a little bit.

‘I’m driving, prick,’ she snapped. ‘Try that again and I’m feeding you to Regina’s ravens.’

Will wheezed but managed to look up at Emma. ‘She’s got them blackbirds, eh?’

‘Probably not, but she’ll claim them to be hers just to feel the satisfaction of saying she killed you. Especially after I tell her you’ve been trying to objectify her.’

‘To be fair,’ Leroy piped up in the backseat, holding his hands up in a placated manner, ‘she’s got a nice arse.’

‘You do know I’m a master swordsperson, right?’

‘I’m just saying,’ the dwarf continued, leaning against the bars to get a better look of Emma in the rearview mirror, ‘Everyone can see the yearning looks and doe eyes. I can’t even enjoy a regular cup of coffee in the morning the day you and the mayor decided to have eye-sex across the table. It’s called a "family" establishment for a reason.’

‘Okay, one—I don’t yearn,’ said Emma, her voice lacking its usual confidence. ‘And two—we don’t have  eye-sex . We’re friends—co-parents! What we have is great, so why change it?’

‘Because then all that underlying sexual tension wouldn’t suffocate everyone from here till Timbuktu,’ deadpanned Leroy.

‘You know what? You shut up.’ Her eyes narrowed into the mirror, and she wondered if he would spontaneously combust if she squinted hard enough. ‘We took you into custody, so anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.’

And with that she slammed shut the small window between the front and the back seats. The speed meter increased as Emma added more pressure on the petrol.

It’s a moment before Will spoke again.

‘I didn’t mean nothin' by it, boss.’ Will pouted like a child, his tone trying to placate her temper. He knew when he was pushing his luck with Emma, especially when it involved the brunette. ‘I’m just curious about what I saw in the office earlier. Honest.’

‘You didn’t see anything,’ said Emma, narrowing her amber eyes. ‘You tell anyone about what you think you saw, or even write it down in your diary I’ll stick my foot up your arse and then kill you.’

‘Gods!’ He held up his hands and looked away from Emma, as if maintaining eye-contact would give her a reason to attack. ‘Alright! I didn’t see anything.’

‘Good boy.’ Her attention returned to the road and she could feel her shoulders relaxing.

They drive in silence and Emma brooded solemnly, now forced to think about her interaction with Regina after Will had brought it up. Soft lips nearly covering thin, pale ones and russet eyes with flecks of amber nearly disappearing in a black abyss. 

When Will began questioning things she hadn’t wanted to address for the time being, she knew she had reacted defensively more than in fear of someone, somehow spreading her and Regina’s private affairs around town. It wasn’t that she was afraid of what she felt for Regina, but more that she was afraid Regina would be spooked. The brunette had a track record of being skittish when it came to relationships, especially when it came to theirs. If Emma could prevent Regina from pulling away anymore than she already had, then life would be infinitely easier.

Emma sighed, shaking her head as she indicated the next turn. If she allowed her mind to continue filling with thoughts of the brunette beauty, then she was bound to drive into the next stop sign.

By the time they reached the station, Emma’s mood had reached  kicked puppy  on the sulking scale. She had wondered if Will would point it out but when she had pulled the cruiser to a stop, he had just exited quietly, showing no signs of being upset by her words from earlier.

They book Leroy in for the night. A quick call to the hospital confirmed that Happy was sedated and still cuffed to the hospital bed for the evening just to make their load a little easier. Granny had decided to press charges for the sake of teaching them a lesson on top of the arrow in the dwarf’s buttocks, but Emma was convinced she would soften after a good night’s rest.

‘Hey, I’m heading out for the night,’ she said to Mulan, purposely ignoring David. Her deputy looked up from her paperwork. ‘You guys have everything under control here, and I can’t take another night of pouring over paperwork we had already been through thousands of times.’

Mulan’s eyes soften sympathetically. Like the other deputies, she had poured herself into the case against Scar, or the one they had been trying to build anyway. She had as much a right to be upset by the outcome as Emma had.

‘Patience is the mother of all virtues,’ the warrior advised. ‘We will determine what Irons is up to and we will put a stop to it.’

‘Buying into my mother’s scheme of hopefulness?’ Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘Blind faith doesn’t suit you, Deputy Fa.’

‘And cynicism doesn’t compliment your complexion.’

Emma laughed. ‘My pale white ass? Please, if anything it helps bring out the color in my eyes.’

She locked up her office and made for the door—"Goodnight" on her lips—, when David stepped into the office. He held his jacket in his hands, twisting and turning the item in a nervous manner. Emma stopped in her tracks to stare at the man.

‘Hey,’ he cleared his voice. ‘Can, uh—can I talk to you for a second?’

‘I have to get home,’ she frowned. ‘Regina and I are having a movie night. You know how she is about punctuality.’

David nodded, but didn’t relent. ‘It won’t be long. It’s important that I speak with you.’

Emma sighed and spared a glance towards the other deputies. Mulan and Will appeared absorbed in the work—even when Emma know the latter was googling pictures of "Cat’s in hats". She had seen enough of the computer’s search history to know enough about her team. In fact, some of the things she knew should have gone to their graves rather than see the light of day.

She mumbled something along the lines of  _ Cowards _ , before she followed David with some mild hesitancy. They stepped out into the hallway and her father turned to face her.

‘Okay,’ she encouraged. ‘Shoot.’

* * *

The food was already cold by the time Emma returned home and Regina was half asleep on the living room’s couch.

She’s upset, of course. Not that she would ever admit she would have liked to eat with Emma, or that she had waited an entire hour before she dove into the pork chops—alone and miserable. There had been work to do, more research into dead-ends, but she had decided to settle on the couch with a drink and a few chocolate eclairs she had retrieved from her secret stash.

Emma entered through the front door—loudly and irritably as always, but somehow a little softer. As if the energy had been drained out of her. When she entered the room, Regina understood why.

Morally, the witcher looked awful. The brief progress Regina had made in the office a few hours prior had been undone. Her shoulders were drooped, and her eyes looked haunted, like a child who’s seen too much of the unforgiving world.

Regina sat up on the couch when Emma unceremoniously dropped herself next to her, a foot or two away from her. She had forsaken her chest armor, so Regina caught a glimpse into the gap between the blonde’s breasts. A blush tainted her cheeks upon remembrance that the witcher rarely ever wore brassieres anymore.

‘You look like you could use a drink.’ Regina’s voice was husky, added to a soft scratching sound. She blamed it on the exhaustion.

‘That your way of telling me I look like shit?’

‘You do,’ she agreed. ‘Look like  shit . But it doesn’t make you unattractive. You wear it well.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Emma grunted in annoyance. ‘You are saying shit’s something that makes me look good?’

‘The term you’re looking for is _ruggedly handsome_.’

‘Yeah well—’ Emma stopped herself, deflating back against the couch. ‘Can we just... cool it on the bantering? I just need a second.’

Something definitely was wrong when Emma couldn’t muster up the energy for their usual harmless teasing. It made Regina shift uncomfortably, torn between reaching for Emma and keeping herself immobile because comfort wasn’t something they did.

Emma sat back against the couch and drew Regina almost effortlessly towards her. She grunted as the brunette shifted awkwardly against her until her head came to rest against Emma’s shoulder, then settled.

Regina remained tensely still against Emma, thinking of herself as stiff as a pole. The witcher didn’t seem to notice, or she simply didn’t care about the struggle within Regina. She released a breath, intertwining her fingers into the brunette’s messy tress of brown.

‘This is nice,’ Emma hummed, repeating the phrase from earlier. ‘We should do this more often.’

‘What?’ Regina quirked an eyebrow. ‘ _ Embrace _ ?’

‘I believe you call it _"cuddling"_.’

‘Which is a term for juveniles.’

‘Whatever.’ The witcher shifted and pulled Regina tightly against her. ‘You’re just too stubborn to admit you like being held.’

‘And you’re too stubborn to admit when you’ve been outwitted.’

A yawn escaped Regina, her amusement fading despite Emma’s lack of reply. Her nose pressed against the softness of Emma’s shirt and she inhaled the witcher’s scent. She was mildly surprised to find that the woman didn’t smell like monster blood and sweat. Her fragrance reminded Regina of dark chocolate, citrus and other spices. It has changed from the lavender perfume she had used during her first year in Storybrooke, but it didn’t make her less appealing.

In fact, the scent enveloped Regina like a blanket, promising protection. The last time the brunette had felt this was in the arms of Daniel. He had been the only other person capable of soothing her turmoil with a single touch, or even a mere glance.

‘My father held me up at the station,’ Emma admitted after several minutes of silence.

‘Why am I not surprised?’ Regina rolled her eyes. ‘I hope you at least shoved something into his—’

‘He apologized.’

‘...what?’

‘I was surprised, too,’ she relented, shrugging her shoulders in an attempt to appear nonchalant. ‘I mean, he’s been an arse ever since we got back and I hate the look he had been giving me, like he was disappointed in what I’d done—becoming a witcher—but now...’

‘Now?’ Regina prompted.

‘I’ve always wanted a father.’ Emma pressed her forehead against Regina’s hair. ‘I can’t deny myself that. Even if I hate his guts right now.’

‘So, you’re going to forgive him? Just like that?’

‘No, I’m going to make him grovel, then I’ll think about forgiving him.’

Regina laughed, because that sounded more like the Emma she knew.

They relapsed into silence, but neither of them minded. Whenever they addressed emotional topics, they would rather embrace the silence than ruin it by saying the wrong thing. It seemed to have become a recent habit; the brutal honesty. Emma had always been skittish about her feelings and while Regina wore her heart on her sleeve, it didn’t mean she was incapable of skimping over the truth. Especially given who she had been.

Emma’s whole being drew Regina closer and she couldn’t help the calmness that continued to radiate through her. It made the brunette relax that much more and made her reluctant to the idea of letting go. Perhaps it was selfish of her to think of Emma in such a way, but Regina couldn’t remember the last time she had allowed her heart to paint the way.

They didn’t pay too much attention to the time, but Regina thought at least half an hour had passed. She swallowed, suddenly feeling Emma’s amber burning into her head as she pulled away from the witcher’s touch.

‘Do you still want to watch those films with me?’

Emma grunted, then nodded her head in confirmation. ‘Wait. They’re not romcoms, are they?’

‘Suck it up, Miss Swan.’ Regina smiled tightly. ‘And if you tell anyone about this, I’ll—’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Emma rose off the couch, out from under the brunette’s weight. ‘Popcorn?’

* * *

Nowadays, Latchboy’s day was compiled of _"This is a bad idea"_ and _"This crazy son-of-a-bitch is going to get me killed"_. He didn’t know when it would end, and he knew that there was no difference in comparison to the day before and the day before that.

Mistress Witcher’s tome defined a djinn as such:

_ A djinn is a powerful air spirit, a condensation of the power of that element endowed with consciousness and character—the latter usually nasty. According to legend, djinn can grant even the most far-fetched wishes, though they do so very begrudgingly. _

...but he was no fool. He didn’t need a fancy education like other children his age to know that a djinn wasn’t a being one could cross. From what he knew, Rumplestiltskin was even more forgiving and lenient towards others. He would rather steal from the Dark One that try and obtain those accursed wishes.

Unfortunately, Pan had no desire to heed his warnings, nor the Tome’s for that matter. He barreled on through the under grove, not bothering to wait for Latchboy who struggled through the mud and grime. If Latchboy could see the kid’s face, then he would have no doubt he bore a giddy smirk. The nearer they came to where this sigil lay, the worse the boy’s excitement became and the more Latchboy’s fear had begun to creep up on him.

‘We’re almost there,’ said Pan, gliding to a stop where he now floated about the ground. Latchboy pulled his lips into a thin line, think it unfair that he had to be knee-deep into the muddy waters. ‘It’s just up ahead.’

‘Not so fast, laddie.’ Latchboy huffed, coming to a stop. He yanked his legs out of the watery depths and tried to scramble onto a boulder above the surface. A grunt escaped him once he finally stood atop, coming eye-to-eye with Pan. ‘You first gotta tell me what this is about. What do you want with the djinn?’

Pan shrugged his shoulders. ‘A djinn’s power is priceless to a mage.’

‘Aye, but you’re no ordinary mage, now are you? There’s something you’re not tellin' me. You wouldn’t be here just for power. You’re not that kind of a twit.’

‘You’re right. It’s important,’ he relented. ‘Very important. So, important that if I tell you, I’d fuck it up.’

‘Oh, no,’ Latchboy whined regrettably. ‘Not all that mystical, futuristic, voodoo crap again.’

Pan’s shoulders tensed and for a moment it seemed as if he was going to rip his mask off and then scold Latchboy for his childish behavior. However, he took a few deep breaths and unclenched his fists. If Pan had wanted to punch him in the jaw, the moment had fortunately passed.

‘I can’t tell you why I need the djinn, only that I’m not going to harness its power for my own.’

‘Hold on.’ Latchboy placed his hands onto his hips. ‘Ye're tellin' me ye're not planning on using the wishes the djinn will give you once it’s defeated?’

Pan shook his head, ‘I’m not going to defeat it.’

He reached into his trench coat, retrieving another linen shirt. Latchboy immediately recognized it to be another piece of clothing Pan had stolen from the witcher. The Lost Boy barely managed to gulp in fear.

Something in the back of his mind told him they were testing fate. If their luck were to run out and they were to find themselves at the edge of Emma Swan’s blade, then they were done for.

‘What’s that for?’

Latchboy could imagine the devilish smirk forming on the boy’s face, his tone even suggested it. ‘I’m going to link the djinn to the blonde bimbo like I did with the demon.’

‘But wouldn’t that grant her the wishes?’

‘Only one in this case,’ he replied vaguely, then he turned and continued his path.

Latchboy growled before returning to the water gracelessly. He had become tired of all the hidden meanings and riddles, and frankly the boy was ready to drown himself right there in the under grove. He didn’t even know why he was still helping the kid.

Misplaced loyalty, perhaps?

Pan had saved him from Scar’s clutches and allowed him to stay in the abandoned cottaged he had claimed from Rumplestiltskin. He also kept everyone of their trail, even the witcher’s by masking their scents. So, it was gratitude that made him stay. Especially if the eight-year-old was going to continue feeding him.

A sigh of frustration escaped his lips and he resumed his shuffling, trying desperately to keep up with the boy.

Pan led them up the steps of an old ruin, winding and misleading as it spread off into caverns. It was ominous as it was fascinating, but it left Latchboy nursing a headache. He had no idea if Pan knew where it was, he was going, but the boy seemed confident enough that it was the right direction.

They reach a vast cave when Pan finally decided to come to another stop. His feet touched the ground and once again the sword and trench coat began to drag behind him as he walked, bare feet scraping against the rough surface.

‘Spread out. Look for anything like the symbol I showed you in the tome.’

Latcboy muttered under his breath, mimicking the boy’s unusually high voice in his annoyance. If Pan heard about his squabbling or his dislike of being ordered around like a page, the boy made no indication of it.

They search for what could have been the better part of an hour, going through every nook and cranny they could find. It wasn’t until Latchboy stuck his hand into a strange hole in the wall that he pulled out what he essentially saw as a seal.

It was a circular object, made from gold and just as heavy. It reached about the length of Latchboy’s elbow from his wrist. The symbol engraved into it was two crosses styled across each other and six stars surrounding them.

‘Is this it?’

Pan nearly tripped over himself. ‘Yes! That’s the sigil.’

Latchboy handed it over, seeing no point in keeping it from him for more information. The kid might be his friend, but he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to forcibly take the item he desired. There was something desperate about him—something in his eyes that suggested they were standing between life and death.

Pan accepted the item, his hands cupping the sigil as if it was something precious made of glass. Magically the sigil began to float in his hands, glowing a soft blue. Latchboy hadn’t been expecting the sudden gust of wind to blow him backwards and send his head smashing against the hard cavern floor. He was out a second after his head collided with the ground.


	12. The Last Wish

Emma’s body collapsed against the forest floor with a sudden  thump . Had it not been for her high pain tolerance, or her armored torso, she would have been in an obscene amount of agony. At best, she was now dazed and incapable of determining if up was down, or down was up—or if her right was left, or her left was her right.

A wave of nausea passed her over and she begrudgingly stumbled onto her feet. She glared up at Regina, the woman as poised as ever as she stood patiently, watching on as Emma nearly hurled all the contents of her stomach onto the ground.

‘...Three.’

‘I thought you said you were gonna go on three?’ Emma hissed accusingly.

Regina didn’t even look phased. ‘I did.’

‘It’s " _ One. Two. Three... _ ", then you teleport us.’

‘No, I said I’d go on three,’ argued Regina, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘" _ One. Two... _ ", then on three I teleport us.’

‘That’s bullshit. That was  _ before _ three.’

Regina sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘We may argue semantics all you’d like, Miss Swan, but the fact of the matter is that it’s midnight and I’m not peacefully asleep or embraced by you on our couch.’

Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘Is it  that hard to say it as it is? We were  _ cuddling _ —sickly sweet, gagging worthy  _ cud-de-ling _ . And you liked it.’

‘Yes, by all means, continue to provoke me in my foul mood,’ the sorceress snapped. ‘We’ll see how you enjoy spending the rest of your life as a toad, or a lizard. It would save me from bearing countless headaches.’

‘You’d miss me to much,’ the witcher dismissed. ‘So, how is this going to work? My medallion can only track something that’s insanely close—it’s like a spidey sense, really.’

‘You’re a child.’ Regina rolled her eyes, then with a wave of her hand she produced a small device. ‘Use this potestaquisitor. It’ll help aid in finding exactly where the fissure appeared. It’s most efficient for untrained magic users. It should be a breeze for you.’

Emma frowned, accepting the strange device. ‘Potesta... Potestaquisitor? Sounds fancy, complicated.’

‘Yet, it’s ever so simple. Grasp it firmly, move it around, and the louder it squeals, the closer you are.’

Emma’s amber eyes flashed with a small upturn of her lips. ‘ _ Mhm... _ ’

‘Spare me your juvenile wit, please,’ Regina drawled, placing her hands onto her lips. For a moment she looked thoroughly scandalized, her cheeks lighting up with a touch of pink. Thankfully, she assumed the darkness would hide her embarrassment. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’

‘Splitting up is a terrible idea.’

‘We’ll cover more ground this way.’ The sorceress gave Emma a look that confirmed that she wasn’t going to change her mind on the matter. ‘The sooner we deal with the fissure and whatever came out of it, the sooner we get to go home.’

‘Be that as it may,’ Emma shoved the device back into Regina’s hands, ‘I’m not getting either of us killed tonight. We need to work as a team. You know just as well as I do how dangerous these magical creatures are. The leshen, the demon, the fury—you nearly lost your life that one time.’

‘Emma, why must you insist on arguing with me?’

‘And why must you insist on this death wish of yours?’ Emma snapped back. ‘We do this together, or you’re going home. Don’t test me on this, Regina.’

The sorceress scoffed. ‘And just how exactly are you going to force me into submission? You forget, witcher, I am more powerful than any of your incantations and so-called trinkets. It is you who should not test me.’

Emma said nothing as she pushed herself up against Regina, backing the woman up against the nearest tree with little to no effort whatsoever. Her eyes widened in shock as breast heaved against breast and she remained powerless against the witcher’s withering stare.

For a moment, Regina had thought Emma was going to kiss her, if the flutter of her eyelids had been any indication. Instead, Emma reached over and grasped onto Regina’s wrist and slid on a cuff without any difficulty. The brunette’s eyes widened in shock, speechless by Emma’s boldness. The last person who had dared to slip on an enchanted cuff on her wrist had nearly been magically castrated. Hook still complained about it.

Once Regina recovered, she scowled. ‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Proving that I have no problem playing dirty,’ the blonde shrugged. ‘You step out of line, ignore my wishes or place yourself into unnecessary harms way, you’ll find yourself flat on your back and without a drop of magic coursing through your veins.’

‘How  _ dare _ you—’

‘How dare  _ I _ ? How dare  _ you _ ?’ Emma clenched her jaw, shoving against Regina. ‘You keep placing yourself into harm's way, even when I specifically request you not to. One of these days your luck is going to run out and I won’t be there to protect you.’

‘I don’t  _ need _ your protection,’ hissed Regina. ‘I’ve been fine before and I’ll be just as fine now.’

‘Oh, you mean like the time you made out with a demon wearing my face? Or the time a Fury tried to drag your soul to the Underworld? Or that time when you almost got shot by thugs and I had to save your ass?  _ Again _ .’

‘So, we’re keeping tallies, are we?’

‘No, we’re not keeping—’ Emma released a growl as she stepped back, knowing the woman was trying to goad out some sort of a reaction. If Emma hadn’t placed some space between them, she would have done something she would later have regret. ‘Look, I know you can protect yourself. You raised Henry for ten years alone, all the while juggling work and keeping the curse intact—’

‘Is there a point in rehashing one of the greatest mistakes in my life, Miss Swan?’

‘The point is, you did all of that on your own. I’m not questioning you or accusing you of being some damsel in distress. If you had been one, you would be safely tucked away in your mansion while I came to investigate the fissure. I wouldn’t allow just anyone to come along with me on the Path.’

Regina pursed her lips, as if reading into the extended weight those words carried. Most witcher’s worked alone – trained to do so from a young age. It was on rare occasion that they allowed anyone to aid them. Mary Margaret had been an exception to this code and now Regina was, too.

‘So, are you willing to play nice?’

The sorceress growled. ‘I should set you on fire.’

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

The witcher reached for her wrist, then slipped the enchanted cuff off. She had never meant to use it on Regina. Not ever. But she had been desperate to make a point and it seemed as if she had finally had a breakthrough.

They work their way through the forest, Emma stopping to inspect tracks now and then as they make their way to the epicenter of the latest fissure. The forest was quiet, far too quiet for an evening with a full moon. The least Emma expected was for bats to be swaying amidst the trees or the sound of owls watching their every movement. However, it was as if the woods had gone deathly silent and utterly devoid of life.

Emma has tracked monsters in the night before. That’s when most of them are wide awake and committing heinous acts that would keep even someone like Regina up at night. She was used to spending hours on end in the pitch blackness of the night, even when there was no moonlight to guide her footsteps.

Tonight, however, it was different.

It was a rarity for her to come to the realization that while she was stalking her prey, it had begun to stalk her.

As a monster hunter, there was always the risk of being toyed with by the creatures you hunted. Especially when it came to the type of contracts Emma often accepted. It was a rarity for her not to risk her life, or barely make it back alive to the  scholae . It had been the reason why her mother had invited herself along on her quests often.

So, when Emma kneeled beside a lightning impression in the earth, she had yanked her hand away as if she had been burnt and flew to her feet.

‘Get down!’

Emma barely had the chance to tackle Regina onto the ground before a crack cut through the air. Her eardrums rang from the blast and she slumped against the brunette. The suddenness of the attack left her reeling and she scrambled for her sword.

She had only ever seen a djinn once in her life before. Some time ago when she had been foolish enough to think their wishes would grant her and Mary Margaret a safe passage home. She had learned the hard way what cruel manipulators they were, and she had the scarring to prove it. The last time she had faced against a djinn, half a port city had been leveled to the ground.

‘That’s... That’s a djinn,’ Regina stared with wide eyes as she pushed herself up against Emma.

The demon sphere floated a few feet from them, a glowing white-blue essence that stared at them expressionlessly. If you were to look hard enough, you could see the outline of someone’s face, but it faded away after the first glance and any thought of it having the characteristics of a human vanished.

A coldness swept over the sorceress and the witcher, and the former shivered. Emma’s grip tightened on her sword as the djinn began to approach them, static electricity from the ground automatically drawn to it.

‘A djinn’s attack is equivalent to that of a lightning strike,’ Regina informed, her tone strangely rasped, and her eyes fixed on the creature in front of them. She gripped Emma’s shoulder, managing to dig her nails into the gap of her armor.

She was afraid.

Emma couldn’t blame her. Only unusually powerful sorcerers and sorceresses had been capable of taming the creature and acquiring their three wishes. After her last encounter with such a creature, Emma had been in a two-day coma and had an odd issue with short-term memory loss a month afterwards.

‘Regina, I need you to find the sigil.’

‘...’

‘Regina!’ Emma’s voice snapped. ‘The sigil!’

The outburst gained the desired effect and the brunette investigated Emma’s desperate amber. Regina’s grip tightened on Emma’s flesh, drawing flood with the force she gripped at the witcher.

‘The sigil, yes, of course.’ Regina disappeared in a wave of her hand and left Emma in the presence of the demon.

Emma twirled her sword and prepared for an attack. ‘Let’s dance, you bastard.’

* * *

The toughest days, it seemed, are the ones that never wanted to end.

If you took this one for example, even when it had been a tiring day of doing nothing but sleuthing over paperwork and research that Emma wanted to dump outside the station and use her Igni sign to set it ablaze—throw in an accelerator and Emma’s happier than she had been in a total of ten years—it’s turned into the most overexerting days she has had in months.

And given that she had faced off against a fury not too long ago, that was saying something.

‘What the hell do you mean you can’t find it?!’

Regina delivered a fireball squarely to the barely their face amidst the cloud of smoke and mist.

‘Just that, Miss Swan,’ she scowled, pressing her shoulder against Emma’s. They leaned against each other in their exhaustion, ragged breathing filling their ears despite the overwhelming sound of their blood pumping in the organs. ‘The sigil is nowhere near the epicenter and whomever had summoned this creature is long gone. They must have taken off the minute the creature emerged.’

‘Did you have a proper look?’

The question rewarded her with a proper slap at the back of her head. Before she could react, she rolled to the side and a bolt of electricity flew in between them. Behind them, it connected to one of the pine trees and blasted the wood into splinters. A moment later, it collapsed into the opposite direction with a terrible creak.

‘Shit,’ Emma gasped out, grabbing Regina’s bicep and pulling the woman against her. ‘That was too close.’

In every other situation, Regina would’ve torn Emma’s hand off and shoved it down her throat for the way she was manhandling her, but their current circumstances didn’t allow the woman any such luxuries. Emma was an expert in her field of profession, even the average quack could realize that. The woman knew what actions were needed to be taken in such situations to get off without injury or far worse.

Emma pulled Regina to safety, diving behind one of the nearest trees upon a glance at the infuriated demon. She gripped her shoulder, hissing as pain radiated through her limb.

When Regina had gone in search for the sigil, the djinn had landed more damaging and noteworthy strikes. The one worth mentioning most happened to be the patch on her shoulder she gripped vigorously.

‘Fuck,’ Emma growled. ‘ _ This _ is why witchers take time to prepare.  _ This _ is why we plan, and we anticipate, and we make our potions. Otherwise, we get ourselves killed.’

Regina whipped her head towards Emma. ‘You’re injured?’

‘ _ No _ , Regina. I just enjoy saying _"_ _ Ow _ _"_.’

‘Oh, for the love of the gods, let me—’

‘For the love of Freya, Regina,’ the witcher snapped. ‘Save your strength. You know as well as I do that, you’re going to need your magic.’

Emma reached for her pouch, retrieving a small orange, glowing vile before popping the cork. She tossed it backwards and gulped down the contents. Regina watched as the witcher clenched her jaw, her veins bulging as the toxicity ran trough her blood. When she opened her eyes, her eyes had begun to glow, as it always did when she consumed a potion.

If Regina was frightened by this, she hid it well, choosing to purse her lips and continue to press herself more firmly against the blonde.

They could hear the djinn groaning, muttering words of an ancient language long forgotten to them and continue to release bolts of electricity in their general direction. The attacks struck the trees surround them or nipped at their nearly exposed limbs.

‘I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it,’ Regina informed, her hand reaching for Emma’s free one. She squeezed and the witcher turned to look at her. She could see the worry in Regina’s eyes and the fear that radiated off her in waves. ‘I mean, you’re not going to like it at all?’

‘Will it get us out of this mess?’

‘There’s a high probability.’

‘Then, I’m all ears.’ Emma winced when another tree collapsed, her hand gripping onto Regina’s for dear life. ‘We don’t know what that fissure could have triggered. We might just have a frost giant running down Main Street for all we know. Especially since my phone’s been vibrating non-stop.’

‘You remember the note card your stalker sent you?’

‘The typewritten note with the ominous _“_ _ Be prepared _ _”_?’

Regina glared at her. ‘I’m sorry. How many adolescent boys do you know with a tendency to stalk women thirty years their senior?’

‘Can you just get to the point?’ Emma glanced around the tree and pulled her face back just in time for another bolt of electricity to fly past face, missing her by an inch. ‘I doubt that thing’s going to stay placated long enough for us to think of some devious plan.’

‘Do you remember the incantation written on the back?’

Emma did a double take, her eyes widened in shock, then she blinked animatedly. Had she just heard the sorceress correctly? Or was she left more delirious from the djinn’s attacks than she had thought she had been?

The incantation Regina was referring to was a soul binding spell. And as it were, Pan had written it so that Emma and Regina’s souls would bind together.

Why would Pan want them to bind their souls together? She had no idea.

Emma knew little of soul bonding, only that the magic it would expel would keep harm from befalling the two merged souls. It would protect them from the djinn, and most likely injure the demon in the process if not destroy it. However, that would condemn them together for all eternity. That was what it meant to bind two souls together.

‘Regina, you don’t mean…?’

‘Well, do you have a better idea?’ Regina raised an eyebrow. ‘In a few seconds, we’re either going to become crispy delicacies, or inedible charcoal. I don’t know about you, but neither option sounds particularly enticing.’

‘Yeah, but…’ Emma trailed off, her heart racing at the mere thought. At the same time, it made her want to rather take her chances with the djinn. She didn’t want their fates tied together because of magic. Emma wanted Regina to want her in the same way she wanted Regina. ‘Wouldn’t that be playing into Pan’s hands? He clearly wants us together for some sick and twisted fantasy he had concocted in his mind.’

‘Like I said, I’m open to suggestions.’ Regina looked away, her cheeks flushing crimson, visible even under the darkness of the woods. ‘If you can’t stand the idea of being tied to me for the rest of your miserable existence, then—’

Regina attempted to slip her hand out of Emma’s, but the witcher tightened her grip. Emma kept her gaze pointedly ahead when Regina’s eyes snapped to her.

‘If I have to condemn myself to anyone in this gods-forsaken realm, then I’m sure fucking glad it’s you.’ Emma forced her amber to bore into Regina’s russet orbs. ‘Now, how do we do this?’

She stared at Emma for a moment, a million emotions racing through her mind, each one more cryptic than the last and leaving the witcher reeling for answers. Then, she collected herself by taking a deep breath.

‘We need to say the incantation together, act as a unit. You cannot misspeak once, or it won’t work.’ Regina hesitated, clenching her jaw. ‘If we don’t do this correctly, the consequences could be disastrous.’

‘Define “disastrous”?’

‘What do you think will happen when two souls are merged halfway, Miss Swan?’ Regina’s voice dripped with sarcasm and hinted at the question  _ “Are you stupid, Emma?” _ like no one else could. ‘You’ve seen what happens to people where alchemical procedures have gone horribly wrong. That same principle applies here.’

‘So, you could end up with half a soul and I could end up with half of yours? What the hell would that look like?’

‘I imagine it would look like a cross between a Labrador and a Bombay cat.’

Emma rolled her eyes. ‘Okay. I get it. Don’t screw up or Henry’ll be traumatized for the rest of his natural life.’

‘Precisely.’

‘On three?’

Regina pursed her lips, then nodded. ‘One.’

‘Two.’

Regina darted around the tree, tearing her hand from Emma’s.

‘Son of a—I said  _ on _ three.’ Emma growled, bolting after her.

* * *

A faint buzz of electricity prickled at the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck as Regina began to draw her magic from the energy around them and that which manifested in her. Like most sorceresses Emma’s made herself acquainted with, there was a sudden drop in the air’s temperature. It generally happened when a spell was going to take a lot of magical energy, and by the vein bulging on Regina’s forehead, Emma knew just exactly how much power this spell was going to require.

A bolt of electricity barreled towards the sorceress and Emma quickly drew a sign, casting a protective shield in front of her. The attack ricocheted off the barrier and struck into the ground.

When Regina took in a fighting stance, her right arm criss-crossing over her left, Emma could see her eyes light up in a violet-purple color. Her hair whipped from side to side as a magic circle engraved into the ground, lighting up with a strange golden-blue hue. The sorceress opened her mouth and Emma had no choice but to follow her lead, Regina’s warning echoing in the back of her mind.

‘ _ Powers of dark and light _ ,’ Regina chanted in a voice so powerful that Emma nearly forgot to repeat the words alongside her. She had forgotten just how commanding Regina could be when performing her magic, mostly since she had vaguely been accustomed to it by now. ‘ _ Forces of good and evil. Align thy stars. _ ’

The circle that had now surrounded them changed into a blinding, golden-white. The light nearly made Emma jump out of her skin. She managed to school her features enough to prevent causing Regina a distraction.

‘ _Protect all that is. Guide all that will be. And heal what once was_. ’

Their words joined together like one, and Emma could feel something tug at the pit of her stomach. It grew into something painful, as if her very insides were being thrust out of her naval. She gritted her teeth to prevent herself from gasping in pain and glanced over to Regina. The strained look that painted olive skin told Emma she was experiencing the same amount of agony.

The witcher clenched her hand around her sword and glared towards the djinn. She knew that if they stopped now, Regina’s words of warning would come true and Emma would rather not discover what would happen exactly.

‘ _ Scent of apple tart and lilac sweet, entwine thy fate with thee. _ ’ Regina turned her head towards Emma, her russet locking onto the intense amber she found staring at her. Emma couldn’t quite understand what exactly she was trying to convey with that single glance, but she could somewhat understand the wonder in those eyes. ‘ _ Lost little lion, amber-eyed knight. Bind thy fortunes. _ ’

A horrible screech emerged from the djinn as a wave of white magic burst forth from the circle. It blew the creature back several feet and then it began to shake as if something was battling inside of it, struggling to reach the surface. Just before it burst apart, Emma dove in front of Regina, covering them both with a quick work of her hands. The barrier enveloped them both and Emma drew Regina safely into her arms.

They stood there, gasping for breath, chest heaving against each other. Emma could feel a tingling sensation start just beneath the surface of her skin and it was all because of the proximity they happened to be in.

When they began to pull away, amber meeting a violet hue, Emma could practically see Regina’s breath catching in her throat. Leaning forward, Emma’s eyelids drift low, and she noticed her majesty’s doing the same. She could feel Regina’s breath gracing her lips, mixing with her own ragged inhalation.

Then, they were kissing.

Regina tasted like apple cinnamon, dark coffee and, ironically, strawberries—a combination Emma thought shouldn’t work together, but did, and it left her mind swimming. She breathed in the lilac scent that enveloped the sorceress and she briefly thought on how she could spend the rest of her life drowning in it.

Somehow, her hands and body moved on their own accord, cupping the back of Regina’s neck and grasping at her hip, and she realized she had carelessly dropped her sword somewhere in these movements. Emma tugged the sorceress flush against her with accidental brute strength and she was rewarded with a gasp of surprise. A hand moved around her waist, reaching up all the way to her shoulder blades, and another moving to her belt buckle as it looped a finger around the cold metal.

She had been fantasizing about this for about as long as she knew Regina, and when she had taken other women to bed, all she had ever thought about was the woman with brown hair and russet eyes. Not an intimate encounter had gone by where she hadn’t thought of the sorceress. And now, there she was, utterly enraptured in the woman before her.

For some unexplainable reason, Regina bit down on her bottom lip.  _ Hard _ .

‘Ow! What was  _ that _ ?’

Regina giggled. Honest-to-gods giggled like a virgin Mary. ‘It can’t all be sweetness and sunshine.’

Then, the unthinkable happened.

They leaned in, like magnets drawn together, preparing to recapture one another’s lips. Perhaps it was the high emotions raging inside of them after yet another brush-in with death, or because of the magic still humming inside of them, but Emma thought neither option possible. Not when her heart pounded like all the hurt and pain, she had experienced in her life in the futile pursuit of love didn’t matter at all.

However, they somehow stopped, mere millimeters apart.

They scattered apart, as if the mere touch of the other singed their flesh off their bones. Emma dove for her sword and Regina scrabbled to tug at her hair, trying to look anywhere except the witcher.

‘That was…’ Emma cleared her throat, sounding a little strangled now that she had finally found her voice. ‘Um… that was unexpected.’

‘A side-effect,’ Regina shot back, though her flushed cheeks told a different tale. ‘An  _ unfortunate _ one at that.’

‘Unfortunate, right.’ Emma sheathed her sword, her mind foggy and unclear. ‘…right.’

‘We don’t… Why would we ever want to…?’ The sorceress turned a deeper shade of crimson, and Emma was suddenly thankful for her complete and utter control over such a feeble thing as facial expression.

‘Yeah, we’re not—’ she didn’t finish the thought, knowing it would only end up being a complete and utter lie.

Self-consciously, she reached for her compass, still safely tucked inside its pouch. She gripped onto it tightly, nearly crushing the magical component in her hand.

Emma gathered the willpower to force her face into a sour expression. ‘We don’t do that. Ever.’

‘Precisely.’ Regina nodded vigorously. ‘I had a better time of it kissing your doppelgänger.’

‘And I’ve kissed hundreds of other sorceresses less anal than you.’

‘I’d rather kiss your idiot of a father than allow you to manhandle me like that again.’ Regina swallowed thickly, and Emma’s inner lie detector flared up instantly. ‘I’m certain he won’t force his tongue down my throat like a barbarian.’

‘Yeah, I’d rather have a nightwraith stick her tongue down my throat than go through that again.’

‘My sentiments exactly, Miss Swan,’ Regina agreed.

‘Good.’

‘ _ Fantastic _ .’

Emma opened her mouth to gain the final word, but clamped it shut. She imagined that her shock must rival the saucer-sized eyes of Regina Mills, but she didn’t hold as much fear in her brutish form as Regina held in hers. For the second time that night, Emma knew that Regina was frightened. More importantly, she could feel that the woman was out of her mind.

_ Oh crap _ , was the first coherent thought that struck Emma. The second, ironically, happened to be,  _ What the fuck do we do now? _


	13. A Dangerous Game

It had been a week.

An entire week of throwing herself into her work—pounding the pavement, barking at all of Scar’s allies and making his life a living hell. Of course, paperwork and ruffling a few feathers had been doomed to last only for so long. Especially when Scar and his cronies, and a certain slippery bastard, managed to evade her every move.

By now Emma had reached her limit and was ready to be admitted into a mental institution.

‘_Fissure number five had been around here... I think this is the result of something much bigger than a chain effect of the first one... Look the pattern they follow..._’

It’s not so much so that the fact that she had kissed Regina that bothered her.

_No_, it’s the fact that she wanted to do it _again _and _again _until she forgot how to even function without her tongue in the sorceress's mouth.

‘_Scar’s lying low, boss. He’s not changing his routine—keeping his nose desperately clean if you ask me..._’

It had been easy to quell her libido when she hadn’t known what she had been missing. The possibility of intimacy had been out of sight and out of mind, and it was easier to pretend it wasn’t there at all. Witchers might be sexual creatures, but their ability to set aside carnal needs were as impressive as their swordsmanship.

Now...

Now it was out in the open.

‘_The Lost Boys are tightlipped about Pan and Latchboy’s whereabouts. They’re swearing up and down they hadn’t seen either of them for the last few months now. Personally, I think they’re covering for 'em._’

It festered like a wound littered with infection. A glance, a whisk of her scent—it brought the witcher to her knees and left her gasping for breath. And it wasn’t just because it had been some months since the last time she had attended to certain needs. Her body would have found a subconscious way to let her know she had been neglecting her overzealous libido and she would have been suffering for much longer than the span of seven days.

No, this was something else entirely.

‘_Ruby and I’ve been following the scent like you asked, but we keep coming up short around the toll bridge. The kid must have been smart enough to know how to mask it. Even the locator spells you suggested were a bust..._’

When she thought about intimacy, she thought about Regina and couch cuddles. She thought about banter and uncalled-for-insults. Her mind also drifted to various activities involving the rope she used for trophies. That one certainly appealed to her insatiable hunger.

She knew it was more than just lust because the way her heart tugged in a way it hadn’t done for years, the way her insides melted at the sight of the brunette and the simple fact that she was still pathetically carrying around a picture of the woman in her compass proved that she was in over her head.

‘_Uh... Sheriff?_’ _... ‘Swan?_’

Emma looked up from the map spread out in front of her, but even the brief amount of attention given to Will was of little use. She vaguely noted the concerned looks of her other deputies, even David seemed worried for her sake.

‘_Earth to Mistress Witcher?_’ ... ‘_Boss? Are you even listening to us?_’

Paying them no mind—not even sure what either one of them were talking about anymore—she turned and headed towards her office. The law enforcers were still gaping at her like she had just confessed her love for Grumpy the dwarf—her swords strapped to her back—as she walked towards the exit.

.

.

.

Of course, Storybrooke was nothing if not lacking in contracts and distances to travel. When she and Mary Margaret had known nothing but the land and the Path, she had travelled at least forty miles in a day—excluding when she had taken a job.

It was a never-ending cycle of frustration and she felt like a caged animal.

She hated the feeling of being trapped, incapable of going anywhere. The thought of leaving made her lungs collapse and the thought of staying only built on the bristling anger inside of her. Emma felt herself being pushed and pulled into so many directions that everything was tearing her up from the inside out.

By the time Mary Margaret found her by the diner, she was already so emotionally spent that she hadn’t even bothered to look up at the woman taking a seat from across her.

‘Well...’ she began ever-so politely. ‘You look like shit.’

Emma rolled her eyes and forced her body away from the near fetal position she had taken on the cold, soothing wooden surface.

After ten years of spending their time in a war-torn land and having dealt with hundreds if not hundreds of thousands of bandits, ruffians and dull thieves and murderers, Mary Margaret had abandoned all sense of refinement and abstinence from profanity by the age of thirty-two. 

And _that _had been over seven years ago.

‘Nice to see you, too.’ Emma voice rumbled deeply, her cat-like eyes cutting daggers into her mother’s pale skin. ‘You came here for my companionship or just the chance to insult me and list the reasons why I’m an idiot?’

‘A little bit of both, actually.’ Mary Margaret shrugged her shoulders and waved signaled the waitress for her regular—hot chocolate and cinnamon. ‘Ruby called me.’

‘Of course she did.’

‘At first I decided to just let it be,’ she leaned forward, resting her head in her one hand. ‘"She’s a big girl", I told myself. "Surely she’s capable of handling her _feelings _all on her own." Then, Regina called me and told me that you hadn’t gone home.’

Emma sighed. ‘_Of course _she did.’

‘Now, _I _know you had chosen to sleep in one of the cells at the station—David told me as much—, but do you think _she _knows that?’ Mary Margaret scoffed. ‘I had to listen to a near hysterical Regina Mills going on and on about how you had probably _shagged half of the Rabbit Hole_.’

‘_Hysterical_?’ Emma snorted. ‘Come on, Ma. Don’t you think that’s taking it a little far?’

‘Well, what would you call it?’ The raven-haired woman raised a challenging eyebrow, awaiting with bated breath for Emma to defend Regina’s less than coherent state of mind. ‘We may have moved passed _some _of which had happened in the past, but I’m certain she’s not on the same level as I to call for aid in managing the phenomenon that is Emma Swan.’

‘Can you stop talking about me in the third person? It’s annoying.’

Mary Margaret paid little mind to her grievances and reached across the table, taking Emma’s hand in hers. It wasn’t demanding and offered the opening for Emma to pull away from her touch if the need arose, but it was intended to provide comfort and to pull the witcher down to earth alongside Mary Margaret.

Touching had become natural between them over the past few years. Emma wasn’t one to seek comfort, or to eagerly reach out and offer it freely, but she accepted it gracefully whenever Mary Margaret offered it. It was how they had stayed grounded to the world around them and how they held onto the idea of going home one day.

Now, Mary Margaret was trying to understand what was going through Emma’s mind. They hadn’t been as in synced as they had been upon their initial return and intimacy often helped to regain that shared mindset.

‘I won’t push you,’ she assured, tightening her grasp on Emma’s leather cladded hand. ‘But you and I both know that a witcher without a clear mind is as good as dead.’

Emma hated it when her mother recited the _Trial of grasses _to her like she hadn’t earned the right to be a professional monster hunter. 

‘This feels a little like pushing.’

‘I could _shove _if you’d prefer?’ Mary Margaret straightened herself, shimmying her shoulders in preparation for her attack. ‘You’re thinking about that kiss.’

‘I didn’t tell you that so you could hold it over my head.’

Emma growled, looking out the window, into the far distance. ‘Go back to "pushing". You were more subtle that way.’

Mary Margaret gave her _that _look. The one that struck fear into even the most infamous of witchers, including her. ‘You’ve been out of it for days—neglecting us, neglecting your family.’

‘I thought you and David _were _my family?’

‘Well, of course we are, but that’s different.’ Mary Margaret’s lips shifted into a soft smile, and Emma knew what ever would come out of her mouth next was going to be sappy and sweet. ‘Henry and Regina—they’re your _family_. Ever since Neverland, the two of you have been a force of nature. Nothing could come between you and nothing could stand in your way.’

‘Look, I’m not... _neglecting _them.’ Emma frowned at the way the word sounded in her mouth, annoyed at the accusation. ‘I just... I needed some space last night and focusing my energy on work was the best option.’

‘Because you feel trapped.’

A statement, not a query. Emma stilled. ‘How did you—?’

‘I _know _you.’ Mary Margaret shrugged. ‘I know how much you care for Regina, too. It’s not as if I had forgotten everything Cora had done to us. I also know why you still carry around that compass of yours as if you kept your heart inside of it.’

‘Ma—’

‘It’s understandable to be afraid, you know?’

‘I’m _not _afraid!’ Emma ground out through gritted teeth. ‘That’s the whole problem.’ She leaned forward clenched her free hand above the table. ‘The second I bare my heart and soul to Regina is the minute that it all comes crumbling down into nothingness. She might feel something—something more than affection or tolerance for Henry’s sake, but she’s not ready. Regina will never _be _ready.’

Mary Margaret released Emma’s hand and began to drum her fingers absentmindedly on the table, a rapid _drrr-drrr _that only served to annoy the witcher’s keen senses. ‘Had anything changed between last Thursday and this week?’

‘No,’ Emma shook her head. ‘Other than her sudden avoidance, and mine, nothing had changed. We kissed because of a side-effect from the spell. We were both vulnerable and acted in a moment of weakness. It hadn’t meant anything.’

‘Is that what you tell yourself?’

‘I’m serious.’ The words were more forced than she had wanted them to be and she realized how desperate she was for Mary Margaret just to drop the subject. ‘It’s not going to happen again. Not if Regina has anything to say about it.’

Mary Margaret snorted. ‘If Regina had anything to say about it, there wouldn’t be much talking.’

‘Oh, my gods.’ Emma briefly pinched the bridge of her nose, collecting her resolve, before reproaching her mother. ‘Can I talk to Mary Margaret right now instead of my mother. I think I prefer her to Snow White. What would _she _say to me now?’

‘Hmm... let me see...’ Mary Margaret trailed off, pretending to think on the matter for a moment. ‘"True love is the most powerful magic of all"?’

‘...’

‘_What_?’

‘That’s what Snow White would say.’ Emma huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘And _stop _looking at me like that. It’s not even sex. It was a _single _kiss. It happened. It’s over. We don’t talk about it, and neither should you unless you want her to fireball you.’

‘Maybe that’s the problem. Not talking about it.’ Mary Margaret gave her daughter a look of utter sympathy, something she hadn’t bore witness in a bare minimum of five years. ‘Look at where miscommunication had gotten David and I.’

‘You do realize Regina and I aren’t married, right? We’re not even in a relationship.’

‘Well, not in the romantic sense, because both of you are cowards—’

‘Hey!’

‘—but you are somewhat friends. And you’re raising Henry together. I’d say that would make a sturdy foundation for even a platonic relationship.’

‘Is there a point to this?’ Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘Because I need to get back to work.’

‘My point is, if you don’t address this _elephant in the room_, everything is going to fall apart.’ Mary Margaret fixed Emma with a stern look. ‘If you two don’t _figure it out_, both of you are going to suffer. Including Henry. The time for playful banter and forlorn looks has passed.’

An uncomfortable silence settled in between them—partly because of Emma’s preoccupied staring and Mary Margaret giving as good as she got. 

Emma thought back on all those years ago when they had both been just Emma and Mary Margaret. When the latter had tossed similar words her way, gripping onto a coffee mug with such ferocity that she might have thrown it in the blonde’s direction.

‘It’s just...’ Emma’s voice cracked after a moment of intense scrutiny. ‘I just don’t want her to be with me out of a sense of obligation. She was forced into a relationship with Leopold and now that our souls are bonded, I’m practically walking expectance of that as our final destination.’

‘Have you seen the way Regina looked at you?’ Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow, sounding incredulous to even ask such a question. ‘Even before your souls were bonded, Regina looked at you like... like she loves you.’

Emma sighed for what could possibly be the umpteenth time that day alone and it was barely eleven in the morning. She leaned forward, once again pressing her hot cheek against the wooden table and savoring the coolness she found there.

Mary Margaret’s hand wove into Emma’s hair, tugging at the braid and loosening the complicated piece of art. Emma closed her eyes and allowed the woman to do as she pleased. 

Whatever happened next, she knew one thing for certain—the time for beating around the bush certainly was over.

* * *

Henry didn’t recognize her.

He was certain he knew every Lost Boy down to the ‘T’, but he had never seen her before.

She was small for her age. It looked like a gentle breeze could blow her over. And her length didn’t help her case either. But, the eight-year-old looked familiar to him—her curly raven hair, her mixed eyes with one a hazel green and the other a dark russet, her somewhat olive skin—and for a moment he had wanted to turn to Nicholas and ask if he had seen the girl before.

Face scrunched-up and the gears in his mind whirling, he sat on the park bench in wait for his mother. He passed the time by staring intently at the little girl chatting away with some of the Lost Boys. 

More specifically, he stared at the faint scar that marred her upper-lip and for a moment—just a moment—he thought of his mother.

Regina had a smile that lit up her entire face when she was comfortable enough to show it. It was reserved for him and Emma alone. The resemblance between the little girl and his mother was simply uncanny, but...

_No_. He was just out of it today, just like he had been all week. His mothers' behavior had begun to drive him utterly insane with either disappointment, hope or downright frustration. Now he had begun to concoct things in his mind all because he wanted them to be together.

Somewhere between his inner-monologue and cursing his own blindly hopeful dreams, he had taken his eyes off the little girl. When he looked up in search for her, he noticed she was nowhere in sight. The Lost Boys continued their to-do list of silly faces and pulling harmless pranks on passersby in the form of a dollar bill on a fishing line, but she was no longer beside either one.

‘Looking for someone?’

Henry nearly jumped out of his skin, gripping his chest when his heart threatened to evacuate his ribcage. ‘What the f... fudge...’

He looked to where the voice had originated from and found the girl lying flat on her back, grinning up at him from underneath the wooden bench. There was a remnant of a shameless grin, her cat-like eyes shining flamboyantly.

‘Hi there.’

If Henry had been doubting her official standing with the Lost Boys, he certainly wasn’t now. Only those who ‘studied’ under the great trickster Peter Pan himself could have such a carefree and overzealous attitude.

‘H... Hi?’ He watched on as she extracted herself from the bench and then plopped down next to him. Henry tucked his skateboard a little closer to him, unsure how to address the girl. ‘Um... do we know each other?’

‘Well, not yet, no,’ she shrugged. ‘Time will only tell.’

_Um... What?_

Henry blinked in confusion, even less sure of himself than he had been a moment earlier—if that was somehow even possible. Lost Boys had a way of speaking in riddles, something they had acquired from their former leader, but Henry had been used to it by now. Yet, her statement had still thrown him off guard.

He shuffled slightly away from her, his eyes darting to see if his mother’s Mercedes had pulled up in the distance. The girl’s eyes bore into him and made him practically squirm on the bench. Suddenly, he regretted not accepting Mr. Tillman’s offer for a lift home. 

‘I’m not supposed to talk to you guys,’ he attempted for an excuse—the truth—but an excuse, nonetheless. ‘My mom doesn’t want me hanging around the Lost Boys... or well... a Lost Girl in this case.’

‘Why? Because we’re bad influences?’

‘That, _and_ I got kidnapped by you guys.’ Henry shrugged self-consciously. ‘That kind of puts a dent on her faith in you guys.’

The girl smiled. ‘She’ll come around.’

‘I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.’ 

A laugh bubbled from deep within her and Henry was a little taken aback that a girl of that size could make a sound so loud. She threw her head back, the amusement continuing to spread through her being.

He swallowed, then held his hand out. ‘I’m Henry. I didn’t get your name?’

‘I didn’t give it,’ she said and accepted the gesture in a firm grip. ‘What are you doing all alone here, Henry?’

‘My friends and I, we come to Sherwood Park every Saturday to skateboard.’ He rubbed at the back of his neck, not seeing the harm in giving a piece of information she likely already knew. ‘I also needed to get out of the house.’

She smiled at him as though she was in on a joke. ‘Mistress Witcher and Her Majesty not getting on well, then?’

‘It’s not that,’ he shook his head. ‘They’re either getting on _too well_, or they avoid each other like the plague.’

And that was an understatement of the truth.

His mothers have been tiptoeing around each other since he first brought Emma to Storybrooke. Back then, he hadn’t known that their arguments were the equivalent of pigtail pulling on the playground, but as time had worn on, he had realized what those odd looks and harsh words had meant. 

It had been the reason why he had snooped around Emma’s room, ultimately discovering the private momentum she kept in her compass. From that point Operation Swan Queen had been his primary goal in life.

... unfortunately, planning was slow, and Emma always seemed to be various steps ahead of him.

Now, they seemed incapable of being apart for more than a few minutes, or they were incapable of spending a second of their time in the same area of the house. And Henry never knew when he should be prepared for what. He was constantly being pulled between acting as a mediator and considering asking his mother to continue therapy sessions with Archie in order to get over the trauma their "bedroom" eyes induced.

‘They’ll get over it,’ the girl promised, pulling Henry from his thoughts. ‘Soon.’

Scrunching his face up, Henry titled his head, studying the girl and the scar running down her left cheek. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because I know.’

‘Well, _how _do you know?’ 

‘I just do.’

Henry groaned, feeling a little like he had walked into a conversation with Jefferson or his grandfather Rumplestiltskin. ‘You’re not making any sense, you know?’

‘Sure, I do,’ she countered. ‘It just depends on the kind of perspective you have.’ The girl glanced around at their surroundings, then stuffed her hands into her oversized trench coat and asked, ‘So, where’s your mom? Usually she lurks around you, especially after everything that went down with Scar’s goons.’

‘You know about that?’

‘Kid, I know just about everything that goes on in this town.’

‘You look younger than I am,’ Henry pointed out.

‘Age is just a construct of time.’

‘_Uh-huh_.’ 

The girl ignored him, paying little mind to his opinion on the matter. ‘So, where’s your mom?’

‘She had to run an errand. She told me to wait here for her if she’s not back by the time we’re done.’

‘Oh, okay. So, how was school today?’

‘This is weird. I don’t even know your name.’

‘But I know _yours_, so humor me.’

‘School was fine.’

‘The closing date for that writer’s competition was today, wasn’t it? Did you enter?’

‘How... How did you know about that?’ Henry asked, his mouth dropping open in shock, his face scrunching up in a horrified frown. He hadn’t even told his mothers about it—partly because he didn’t often share his love of writing with them. He also didn’t want to get his hopes up for thinking he just might win a prize, and then have it plummet the moment the results are out.

‘Okay, I don’t even need to be a Lost Boy to know about the competition. That new teacher—Aurora—she’s overly enthusiastic. She stuck just about a thousand fliers of that thing all around town. I’d know because we used one of the stacks to pull a prank of Jeremy Irons.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Covered his car in glue and stuck the fliers all over until you couldn’t even tell it was a car to begin with.’ She smacked his arm and pointed a finger of warning towards him. ‘And stop changing the subject.’

He sighed, cheeks reddening. ‘A lot of kids entered, so it doesn’t even matter. I’m not that good, so I won’t even reach the Top 10.’

‘Don’t sell yourself short, kid,’ advised the girl. She shoved Henry, making him fumble with his skateboard. ‘You got the makings of greatness in you!’ Then, she leapt up onto the bench, resting her right leg on the back of the seat as she mimicked a steering motion with her hands. ‘But you gotta take the helm and chart your own course!’

Henry laughed, setting his skateboard aside as he joined her. ‘I didn’t even think any of you guys would watch Disney movies like Treasure Planet.’ He turned and looked off into the distance, proclaiming to the bypassing vehicles and the passersby, ‘Stick to it, no matter the squalls! And when the time comes, you’ll get the chance to really test the cut of your sails and show what you’re made of!’

Their accents were poorly mimicked, and they received strange frowns from the townsfolk, but their laughter filled the air together, growing until their stomachs ached and they were left breathless.

They collapsed together on the bench, leaning against each other in their amusement.

‘I’d forgotten how much fun that was,’ the girl mused, leaning awkwardly against Henry’s shoulder. ‘I honestly needed that.’

‘What?’ Henry looked down at her. ‘Making references to movies?’

She shook her head but said little else, keeping mum. Then, she pushed off him and rose to her feet.

‘It was nice seeing you again Henry.’ She shoved her hands into her trench coat. ‘Take care of your moms. They’ll need you now more than ever.’

‘W—What?’ His brows knitted together, and he leapt to his feet. ‘H—Hey! Wait a second! What are you—’

‘Henry?’ 

The brunet turned to see his mother approaching. She must have just pulled up between now and the moment he and the Lost Girl had collapsed together on the bench. Regina was frowning, her lip pulled into a snarl of distaste.

‘Mom.’

‘Who was that boy you were talking to?’ 

‘Boy? What boy? I was talking to—’ He turned around to introduce his mother to the girl, but realized she was nowhere in sight. Henry’s eyes widened as his head darted around. ‘What? She was just—’

Regina rounded the bench and stood next to him. She looked around, assessing their surroundings and pulled her lip into a disdainful snarl at the sight of the Lost Boys lounging around on the grass.

‘Henry, I don’t want you talking to those boys,’ his mother reminded. ‘They’re _dangerous._ Your mother is currently investigating into them _and _this new leader they’re protecting. We don’t want you anywhere near them.’

‘Yes, I know, but—’ he cut himself off when he felt a weight in his inner pocket. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a small card.

**Knew you’d be able to see trough my glamour spell, so I had to improvise.**

**Mum’s the word, kid. It’s better if you just stay out of it for now. Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance one day. Especially since you’re the reason I’m on this quest anyways.**

**—P**

**P.S. You’re gonna do great! Don’t give up on your writing! It’s better than you think!**

**P.P.S. The code is Operation Swan Queen. **

**(Whatever that’s supposed to mean. You never got around to telling me.)**

* * *

Emma Swan was the most frustrating person on the planet.

Just when Regina thought she understood the offspring of her ex-nemesis, she would say or do something that made her question everything she thought she knew about the blonde. Even if the witcher’s thoughts were broadcast over her head before she spoke a single word, Regina would still be unable figure her out.

Long ago, at the beginning of their unfortunate relationship, Regina had labelled the woman as obtuse, forgetful and inattentive to those around her. Yet, there, in the middle of her kitchen was an assortment of lilacs—the most beautiful she had seen in quite some time. Emma was leaning over the counter, dressed in a shirt that lacked a few buttons to the point where it was nearly indecent and her opted pair of leather trousers, drinking a glass of milk and pointedly ignoring the flowers just to her left side.

Caught off-guard, Regina remained speechless—aside from her dropped jaw and flushing to the tips of her ears.

Henry barreled past her, ignorant of the way Regina practically blocked the entire entrance. ‘Hi, Ma!’

The witcher offered an upturn of her lips and hugged him close to her. ‘Hey, kiddo. How was school?’

‘Fine. How was work?’

‘Mrs. Hubbard’s cat got stuck in a tree again, so I made Will climb seven feet off the ground to get it.’

‘Did he get Mr. Catface?’ 

‘More like Mr. Catface got _him._’ There was a tinge of mischief in her amber orbs, but it vanished as soon as it had appeared. She shoved softly at their son and nodded her head towards the hallway, in the direction of the staircase. ‘Go on and get cleaned up. Then, come and help your mom and I with dinner.’

He nodded before bolting out of the kitchen, past Regina, who still seemed incapable of moving away from the spot she was planted on the floor. 

Emma’s sharp gaze cut into her. ‘Hey.’

Instead of offering a similar greeting, she motioned towards the lilacs. ‘What are those?’

The witcher turned to look at the flowers, frowning mildly as if she hadn’t seen them before. She shrugged her shoulders innocently. ‘Not sure. They were here when I arrived.’

‘You’re a terrible liar.’

‘Think what you will.’ Emma reached for her milk and drained the rest of the glass with a simple tilt of her head. ‘I left work early, so I had a chance to grab some groceries. Your secretary said that you were down by the hospital working on your project?’

‘Yes, a last-minute meeting on finalizing the smaller details. If all goes well, we’ll be incorporating the rehabilitation program into the hospital in two months time. Training starts on the third of next month.’

‘Never thought I’d see the day where magic and modern medicine mix together,’ Emma mused to herself, gripping her belt absentmindedly. ‘I’m just glad that we don’t have to take Henry to Whale the next time he gets injured or sick.’

Regina frowned slightly as she watched Emma step in front of the fridge. She agreed with the woman’s view on Whale no longer being their official doctor, especially when he was far worse than the regular quack, but Emma was using it as a scapegoat—a mere means of keeping the conversation going without having to address anything at all.

Ever since their soul bonding, their relationship had seemed strangely more intimate. Little had changed—save for the increase in longing stares, but other than that it was the same as it had always been. Maybe, that was part of the problem.

Their souls were connected as one now, and absolutely nothing had changed. Emma was still... Emma. She was the same infuriatingly stubborn brute that Regina had come to know and... care for deeply since their first meeting. They might have an understanding between them now, a friendship of sorts, but somehow, they had always cared for each other. Even when Regina thought she had wanted her dead.

So, it fundamentally came down to a single fact; nothing had changed because the way they had felt each other before the bonding was the way they felt about each other now.

That’s what frightened Regina senseless, because she knew that could only mean one thing...

‘Emma?’

‘Hmph.’ 

The witcher turned, her expression dangerously neutral. If Regina had been any less of the woman she was, she would have lacked courage like any regular human being. Especially when Emma’s intense amber stared at her so intently.

‘Thank you.’

Emma raised an eyebrow, then turned back towards the assortment of food in front of her. ‘Don’t worry about it. The grocery store was on my way and I get a discount from the store owner anyways.’

‘Not the groceries.’

The witcher stilled, tensing. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘It’s _something_. Lilacs are my favorite.’

‘Well, you douse yourself in enough of a similar perfume, so I figured I’d take a guess.’

Regina moved towards the lilacs, sniffling at the beautiful flower. The soft scent filled her nostrils and brought a small smile to her lips. ‘They’re lovely.’

‘They come with an agenda,’ Emma informed, looking somewhat guilty as she spoke. ‘Sorry.’

The sorceress sighed, placing her hand on her hip. ‘What did you do this time?’

‘Why do you always assume I did something?’

‘Fine. What do you _want_?’

Emma growled, slamming the fridge door with a force that made the appliance rock back and forth. Regina’s tone of voice must not have aided the witcher in gathering the courage to say what was on her mind. All it managed to do was annoy her. The look on her face portrayed as much.

‘You can say "no" if you want to,’ Emma turned to face her, a look of determination on her face. One Regina had only ever seen on her face when she faced off against the latest beast terrorizing the town and its people. ‘The flowers are yours. You deserve flowers.’

She leaned against the counter, the last few words muttered more to herself than to Regina. If the sorceress hadn’t known any better, she would have thought that the witcher’s behavior was what it looked like when someone was having a stroke.

‘Spit it out, Miss Swan. I need to prepare dinner soon.’

The look on Emma’s face didn’t improve, nor did she even back down from the reprimand she received in return. Regina watched (in bated breath) as the witcher shifted from one foot to the other and came to a decision.

‘The Harvest Festival? Do you have an escort?’

‘No, I’ve had offers, but nothing’s official.’ Regina frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Tell them you already have an escort.’

Regina stared and stared and stared until the gears in her mind finally stopped whirling and a light illuminated the answer. Her eyes widened, and had she been drinking water, she would have had no ethical problem with a spit take.

Smoothly hiding her surprise, she crossed her arms over her chest and ground out more confidently than she felt, ‘I hope that’s not the way you’re planning on asking me out on a date.’

‘I got you flowers, didn’t I?’

‘Which you had denied at first.’ Regina rolled her eyes and turned to step away from the table. ‘Honestly, Miss Swan, if you’re going to do this half-assed then—’

The sorceress didn’t hear the blonde’s movement, nor did she know when exactly she had rounded the kitchen table but when she looked up, Emma was towering over her, invading her personal space.

Silence lapsed between them and even when in shock, Regina didn’t back down from the other woman’s challenge. She clenched her jaw and refused to crack underneath the witcher’s unwavering aura.

Emma was the first to relent, her shoulders shagging in defeat but holding onto a small smidge of hope.

‘I’d like to take you to the Harvest Festival. No strings attached, but I’d... I’d like there to be.’

‘I thought you didn’t like feasts?’ Regina teased.

‘I _don’t_, but sometimes we just... gotta suck it up and put up with all that mushy crap.’ Emma scrunched her nose up. ‘That’s how the saying goes, right?’

‘More or less.’ Regina smiled softly. ‘I expect to be wine and dined.’

‘Yes, I’m aware,’ the blonde huffed, rolling her eyes. ‘Your ass is more high maintenance than a performance car. No need to fret, your majesty. Despite my _brutish exterior_ I know how to treat a woman.’

Regina grinned wickedly, and suddenly all her fears and worries flew out the door. She gripped the witcher by the cuff of her shirt and pulled the woman down into a bruising kissing, feeling more whole than she had in a week.


	14. The Truth is in the Cherry Blossom

The week of the Harvest Festival was one of great anticipation and arrived in the blink of an eye.

Emma had never been one for celebrations. There wasn’t much of that going on around the keep and she was often working all through any feast or festival, ensuring that the celebrating went off without a hitch. Witchers weren’t _invited_ to such events, they here _hired_.

She’s not much one for tradition, either. So, despite spending a decade of her life in the Enchanted Forest, she knew jack squat about the festival or what the big deal with _magical cherries _was. In her mind, it was just another excuse for the town’s elite to strut like peacocks and for the other classes to get drunker than the fourth of July, giving her a reason to keep her sword nearby.

So, there she was, dressed in a suit that made her feel like a monkey and forced herself to call it "aesthetically pleasing"—at least that was Mary Margaret and Ruby’s voice squawking in her subconscious. She frowned at the hallway mirror, her amber eyes boring into the scar down the left side of her face and the demon’s symbol that added to her battle experience. She tugged at the button of her collar and it popped off without any trouble.

_Thank the gods._

She didn’t enjoy being choked on a good day, especially when it was her clothing that did the choking.

After a few moments, when she realized that the image in the mirror was as good as it was going to get, she shrugged on the grayish coat lying across the hallway chair—an item, like the rest of her attire, that her mother and Ruby had made her go for a fitting. Her first response had been to snort and then spit in contempt, but that had earned her a slap at the back of her head from the respective women.

She was certain she had overdressed. After all, it was a festival with _cotton candy _and _toffee apples_, and the chance that some kid barreled into her leg, rubbed their snotty nose and sticky hands over the _fancy _attire before bolting away in fear she might eat them was a hefty possibility.

It was by chance that she glanced down at the silver watch adorning her wrist—a recent gift from David because he had _wanted to get her something nice just because he could_, which was actually a poor apology token, but she liked it and opted to where it whenever a special occasion would roll around.

She frowned. 

_Six-twenty_.

They’re _late_.

The festival had started around six, but since both Emma and Regina had been at work the whole of their Friday, they had opted to refresh themselves at the mansion before the headed out for the evening. Henry was long gone, already having the time of his life at the public-school building. Unlike the adults, who were going to overindulge in alcohol, the children had their own event at the school. They were sleeping over for the weekend, taking part in varies activities that revolved around the harvest.

She heard Regina’s heels clicking on the wooden floors upstairs and allowed herself a small panicked breath. Emma patted her jacket’s inner pockets, relaxing somewhat when she could feel the outline of a box inside. Then she moved to her sides, patting the hidden hunting knives.

_A defenseless witcher is a dead witcher, _her mentor used to say. 

When she turned to address Regina, a scolding on the tip of her tongue for all but _hogging _the hot water, her voice caught in her throat. She’s wearing a black dress that Emma hadn’t seen before—navy blue sleeves covering her shoulders and hugging her figure nicely. Her bodice wasn’t too low to be considered inappropriate, but Emma allowed her eyes to stray for a moment.

‘My, my,’ Regina grinned wickedly. ‘Have I rendered the witcher speechless?’

Emma ignored her. ‘You look... _ravishing_.’

‘Thank you,’ the sorceress spared a glance over the blonde. ‘You clean up rather nicely, Miss Swan. I hadn’t known you had any clothing left after that little thief wandered into your bedroom and decided to go on a shopping spree.’

‘I didn’t,’ she shook her head. ‘This is new.’

‘Indeed, it is.’ The sorceress hummed her approval, eyes continuing to wander as they pleased. ‘I must say Miss Swan, I find your candidness refreshing. I’m glad you decided to be my escort.’

‘Me too.’

Regina walked closer until she stood directly in front of Emma, slightly readjusting the woman’s collar. Once she was satisfied, she rested her hand on Emma’s chest, just above her right breast, staring up into the woman’s eyes.

‘So, shall we?’

‘In a minute.’ Emma reached into her pocket and retrieved the small, flat box she had been searching for a moment earlier. ‘I got you something.’

The sorceress quirked an eyebrow but watched patiently as the box clicked open. Inside rested a black marigold pendant. The star crafted from obsidian sparkled under the dim lighting, drawing attention to the multitude of diamonds embedded in it. It was something she had been holding onto in all the years of her travels—a reward she couldn’t bring herself to sell. The moment she had first laid eyes on it, she had thought of Regina.

‘I know you’re not much of a jewelry person, but I thought you’d make an exception?’ Emma stared expectantly at the brunette. ‘It’s not so much magical as it is beautiful. You probably know this, but a pentagram symbolizes protection against evil.’

Emma watched the up curve of Regina’s lips, a long slender finger delicately trailing the outline of the star. ‘Yes, I recall.’ She looked up at Emma, a look mixed with awe and something the witcher couldn’t quite place. ‘It’s beautiful. Will you put it on me?’

Regina turned towards the hallway mirror as Emma removed the necklace from the box. Collecting her hair in a messy hold, she watched as the witcher slid the jewelry around her slender neck, touching the cool pendant once it rested against her burning skin. Once the neckband was secure, Emma stepped up behind the sorceress, closing all remaining space between them. Regina flushed when the witcher gripped her hips, respectful of any unspoken boundaries, but struggling to retain herself.

‘I _missed _you, 'Gina.’ Her voice was gruff as she spoke, as if she was a woman dying of thirst and Regina was the oasis that would save her. 

‘We saw each other this morning,’ the sorceress teased.

‘It feels like a lifetime ago,’ she grunted, meeting the woman’s eyes in the mirror. ‘The deputies wouldn’t shut up about tonight.’

‘I don’t believe you’d be stupid enough as to tell them about our arrangements?’

‘Oh, no.’ Emma pressed a soft kiss to the back of Regina’s ear, reveling in the way she shivered against her. ‘That’s all Mary Margaret’s doing. She had vaguely mentioned about getting me fitted for a suit to Ruby and my second-in-command went and did the rest. Bunch of assholes.’

‘_Of course_.’ Regina’s eyes fluttered. ‘If you continue with that, neither of us will be leaving this house.’

‘Is that such a terrible burden?’

The sorceress turned in Emma’s embrace and pushed gently against her chest to create some distance between them. ‘It is scarce that I have to be the voice of reason, Miss Swan. Do not test my ability to follow through with it.’ 

‘And you think I _am _the voice of reason?’ Emma quirked an eyebrow.

‘Yes, yes.’ The corners of Regina’s mouth quirked upwards. ‘Despite being almost forty and looking like you’re thirty, you think you’re just over twenty and act as though you’re barely ten. It’s rather hard for you to be a voice of reason when you’re younger than our son, hm?’

Emma rolled her eyes. ‘Are you ready to go?’

‘Oh, have I struck a nerve?’

‘Oh, yes,’ the witcher drawled monotonously. ‘You’ve managed to wound my incredibly fragile ego. Now, are you coming, or do I have to throw you over my shoulder?’

‘You’re awfully confident in the direction the evening is going to be going.’

It would be a cold day in hell before Emma missed a beat. ‘I just know my own level of expertise.’

Regina nearly walked into the doorway at the comment and Emma couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at her lips.

The witcher stepped through the threshold and shut the door behind them. As soon as she locked the door, she could feel Regina’s looping her hand around her bicep. She allowed her eyes to linger for a moment before they continued down the driveway.

Heading past Regina’s Mercedes and the cruiser, respectively, they continued down the sidewalk well on their way to Main Street. Given that the Sheriff’s department had blocked off all of the roads for the festival (which had kept Emma occupied for most of the day), there was no need for their modes of transportation.

* * *

‘Why do you have a portrait of me in your compass?’

Emma’s foot snagged on a stone and she nearly toppled over the picnic table. 

Given that the main event wasn’t due to start for a few hours, Regina had suggested that they find something to eat. Graciously, Emma had suggested that they should buy hotdogs from one of the stalls, to the sorceress’ vexation. While Regina found them a seat, Emma had purchased the meals.

Regina watched as the witcher backtracked mentally, the cogs in her brain turning as they tried to recall a time, she had left the item unattended. Then, as if a light switch had been flipped, Emma gave her a look of bemusement and plopped down across from her.

‘I knew there had been a reason why you were vacuuming that day. You could barely stand let alone walk!’

‘Does it matter how I came across it?’ Regina raised a disdainful eyebrow towards the junk food, pulling it closed by dragging the paper plate across the table with a long delicate nail. ‘It captures my likeness; it has piqued my curiosity where you’d come across such a thing—Is this... _palatable_?’

‘You haven’t had a hotdog unless you had the works—eat up.’ Emma took a mouthful of her own and bit down into it. She swallowed, then looked back up at the sorceress. ‘And as to where I got it from—’ the witcher tapped her temple, ‘—I got it from here.’

Regina frowned. ‘Pardon?’

‘I drew it by memory way back when in the Enchanted Forest.’ She shrugged her shoulders, downplaying the significance of it. ‘When I needed a reminder of why I was on the Path—of why I was looking for a way home—I’d just pop the old trinket open and stare at the portrait.’

‘W—Why?’

Emma scoffed; her eyes filled with more emotion than what Regina knew what to do with. ‘I think you _know why_,’ she paused, clenching her jaw, ‘I adore you, Regina. Always have.’

Regina swallowed thickly, glancing away under the intensity of the blonde’s stare. She reached for her hotdog and lifted it off the plate. ‘Well, no points for creativity, but for your candor...’

Luscious red lips bit down into the hotdog. She moaned in pleasure and felt her cheeks flush a crimson shade all the way to the tips of her ears. Her eyes shot up towards the witcher and immediately took notice of the smug smirk playing on her lips.

The hotdog went down with little struggle. ‘Oh, do try and contain yourself, dear.’

‘I just never thought I would see the day.’ The smugness in the witcher’s voice had only increased tenfold. ‘Regina Mills eating junk food.’

‘It’s not as though I’ve taken a vow of chastity, Miss Swan.’ Regina all but rolled her eyes at her companion. She wanted to find whichever quack labeled witchers as incapable of emotion and burn them at the stake. For someone who lacked any and all feeling, the shit-eating grin on Emma’s face told a different story. ‘I do enjoy a burger every now and then, but unlike most people—namely you—I don’t have an inhuman metabolism. I need to watch my figure.’

‘Why?’ Emma looked genuinely baffled. ‘You’re figure’s just fine.’

‘And inappropriate discussion for a first date, witcher,’ she chastised lightly. Deciding a change of subject was overdue, she recalled back to their previous conversation. ‘I hadn’t known you were an artist—especially not one quite so talented.’

‘Picked it up as a kid. If I couldn’t ditch classes without getting into trouble, I would spend my time drawing my teachers instead.’ Emma chuckled, as if amused by her younger self. ‘I was bound to get good at it at some point.’

‘Miss Swan, a wayward delinquent.’ Regina leaned forward, placing her chin in her hand. ‘Who would have thought?’

‘I believe the _jest _is on _you_, your majesty,’ Emma kindly pointed out. ‘_You’re _the one who’s on a date with this _wayward delinquent._’

‘A _horrible _decision on my part.’

‘Liar.’

Regina narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re awfully confident in the amount of "game" you appear to possess. Do you treat all the ladies to an evening out with you and variations of junk food?’

Emma shrugged. 

‘What does it matter what I did with previous women?’

‘Call it morbid curiosity.’ 

The way Regina’s face contorted in disgust must have done her in. Emma stared up at her, all amusement on her face evaporating into nothingness. She stared and stared until she stood from her seat, their hotdogs now finished.

‘I thought my compass was proof enough?’ Emma held no indication that she was teasing Regina or goading her into some kind of a reaction. Instead, she appeared deathly serious, not wanting there to be any kind of a misunderstanding. ‘I only ever thought about you.’

Regina remained momentarily speechless, something that had become habit forming that evening.

Emma chuckled lowly. ‘I’ll get us some more hotdogs.’

* * *

It was like he wanted to get caught.

Actually, Latchboy was ninety-nine percent sure that Pan wanted to get thrown in the clink. 

Not only was he set on swiping a couple of rainbow cherries, but he wanted to tail the witcher and her date on their evening out. He had insisted, convincing enough so that Latchboy tagged along no matter how disgruntled he appeared, or how much he complained every five minutes. 

They were watching from afar, atop one of the buildings across the street. Pan had swiped them each with a pair of binoculars to watch events unfold. Thus far, they had only bore witness to Emma and Regina’s sickly flirting, bantering back and forth.

‘Remind me again _why _we’re doing this?’ Latchboy turned to Pan, pulling his lips into a thin line. ‘It looks to me that they’re out for a nice evening doing what all couples do—_courting_.’

‘I told you,’ Pan grunted, not bothering to face him, ‘it’s on a need-to-know basis.’

‘Yeah, well I _need to know_,’ hissed Latchboy. ‘Ye're too young to be a Peeping Tom.’

‘And you’re too young to be this whiny. Now, shut it and get back to the lip reading. I wanna know what they’re saying.’

Latchboy made another sound of annoyance before begrudgingly turning back towards the nauseating scene.

Across the street, Emma sliced through a caramel apple, dividing it into several smaller pieces before feeding each piece to Regina. The sorceress rolled her eyes but leaned closer to accept the offered treat.

‘They’re still bantering.’

Regina threw her head back and laughed, squeezing Emma’s bicep.

‘Now the mayor’s just trying to seduce her.’

‘That’s not helpful, Latchboy.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ he countered, glaring ferociously. ‘It wasn’t meant to because there’s _nothing helpful _here! They’re just making kissy faces!’

Pan released a sigh, finally tearing his eyes away from the binoculars. ‘Look, it’s important that their evening goes well. Tonight, is a major turning point in history and it’s all because of them. If they _don’t _make "kissy faces" all night long, then we’re pretty much doomed.’

Latchboy stared... and stared. He could feel his eye twitching, his mind running with various insults he wished to call the boy. For a moment, he considered shoving the boy off the ledge and then call it a day, but it would only be counterproductive seeing as Pan could fly and all.

So, instead of of losing his temper and punching the boy in the face, he turned back towards the binoculars. He muttered curses under his breath and a string of other various colorful words, complaining about the things he did for the alleged "greater good".

‘Thank you,’ Pan nodded. ‘Now, let’s just watch please. It’s important that I know everything’s going to plan.’

‘Well, if ye count them whispering _sweet nothings_ in each other's ears as "according to plan", then we’re on the right track.’ Then, in a voice several pitches too high, he continued, ‘Oh, Mistress Witcher! Kiss me! Kiss me and we shall ride off into the sunset with our locks of fabulous hair fluttering into the breeze.’

‘If I were Madam Regina, I would not have seen the ethical problem in skinning you alive.’

‘Skinning is more Mistress Witcher’s style. Madam Regina, however, will burn me to a crisp.’

‘All the more reason not to provoke her.’

‘Och, but what’s life without a little bit of danger?’ Latchboy grinned into the binoculars. ‘Back on Neverland every breath we took was considered dangerous. The time of my life that was.’

‘Yeah, that sounds great,’ Pan drawled in amusement. ‘Constantly running for your life, death lurking around every tree and shrub—oh, and let’s not forget the lack of indoor plumbing.’

‘..._Touché_.’

Pan jabbed Latchboy’s shoulder.

‘Ow! What the—’

‘Sh,’ he ordered. ‘Take a look.’

Across the street, they watched as Emma and Regina rose from their seats. They had barely managed to walk a few steps before a man, a woman and a young boy walked up to them. The woman and child trailed behind him, looking a little lost and unsure of themselves. 

Latchboy didn’t have any idea who the kid and his mother were, but he instantly recognized the man. Jeremy Irons was smiling charmingly at the couple, his hands resting on cane as he spoke.

‘_This _is why we’re here.’

* * *

‘Ah, Sheriff Swan, Madame Mayor,’ Irons drawled, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. ‘Well, isn’t this a _nice _surprise.’

Emma could feel Regina grip her upper arm. Not out of fear, but to prevent herself and the witcher from doing—or saying—something they would regret in the presence of the woman and child. Regina’s nails dug into her skin and she had to grit her teeth in an effort not to flinch.

‘Mr. Irons,’ Regina greeted. ‘What are the odds, hmm?’

‘Higher than you might think, my dear,’ he countered, tipping his head to her. ‘You know my wife, Josephine and our son, Kovu.’

‘Yes,’ Regina offered them each a smile. ‘I do.’

‘It’s lovely to see you again, Regina,’ the woman nodded before lifting her four-year-old onto her hip. She turned back to Irons, managing a tentative smile. ‘We’ll be over by the games, dear.’

‘Yes, yes,’ he rolled his eyes, waving her off. ‘I’ll be around in a minute.’

They waited a moment for the woman to leave, allowing her whatever bliss she wanted to create for herself and her son. Then, Emma crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at the businessman.

‘Something we can do for you, Irons?’ Emma gritted out. ‘We’re kind of on a date.’

‘Then, I shan't keep you long,’ he reassured, holding up a placated hand. ‘I wanted to offer my congratulations in solving Jefferson’s case. It had been a tragedy what happened to that poor man.’

‘Of course you did.’ Regina rolled her eyes and stuck her nose in the hair. ‘Relieved that the evidence conveniently no longer points in your direction?’

‘Well, I’d be lying if I denied that I’m not thankful that the _real _culprits have been apprehended.’

Regina growled and moved to take a step forward, when Emma looped her arm around the woman’s waist. The brunette huffed but didn’t attempt to break the embrace.

‘I hope you’re satisfied.’ Irons raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve left a child parentless.’

Irons shrugged his shoulders, neither denying nor confirming Regina’s accusation. The smirk continued to tug at the corners of his mouth, offering all they needed to know what he thought on the subject.

Emma’s dealt with hundreds of people just like him; they didn’t care who they hurt in their climb to power or in their quest to gain what they wanted. Irons cared little about those that stood in his way and had no problem whatsoever taking it too far, going after the families of those who opposed him.

‘My dear, I am sorry for that poor girl, but it is not my fault what my ex-employees do. Nor is it my responsibility what happens to that little girl afterwards. Rest assured, she is well-cared for with her cursed family.’

Regina’s nostrils flared. ‘You son-of-a-bitch.’

‘Temper, temper, my dear.’ He turned to Emma. ‘I’d suggest you keep your woman on a tight leash, witcher. I’d hate for her to take a misstep.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Emma dropped her voice several octaves.

Irons smiled. ‘Oh, nothing, depending on your perspective.’

‘Funny,’ she took a step forward into the man’s personal space, ‘for a second there I thought you were talking about harm befalling Regina. Because if so, I would be forced to take it as a threat.’

‘Of course you would, my dear.’ He nodded. ‘You and I are very much alike. When someone goes after what belongs to us, we feel threatened, and it is our right to protect it in whatever way we deem appropriate. Isn’t that what you were doing when you rammed your blade through the heart of Regina’s poor, elderly mother?’

Emma’s blood ran cold and she could feel Regina flinch behind her. The witcher forced herself not to attend to the woman but to steel herself against Irons' scrutinizing gaze. The only thing that brought her comfort was that Regina had made no movement to move away or to recoil in disgust. Instead, she had stepped forward and took Emma’s hand into her own.

‘Yeah, I killed Cora,’ she said. ‘I ran my sword through her chest without hesitation. I didn’t regret it—might even go as far as saying I had enjoyed it. But when I come after you, it won’t be so swift. I’ll break your arms and legs first, maybe even your back. If I’m feeling creative, I’ll break your ribs, too. _Then_, I’ll kill you.’

‘It’s true what they say,’ Irons breathed out in satisfaction, ‘witchers _are _cold-hearted beasts. How _thrilling_.’

Emma clenched her jaw. 

‘Well, I won’t keep you any longer.’ Irons tipped his head. ‘A wonderful evening to you both.’

When he turned and left, Emma could feel the last of her fighting spirit drain out of her body and be replaced by a sense of... _dread_. Tentatively, she turned to Regina and watched as a myriad of emotions played across her olive features.

They had never talked about it, but she knew Regina had had her suspicions. Especially when she and Mary Margaret had first returned from the Enchanted Forest. However, they had let it fizzle out somehow. Emma never mentioned it and Regina never asked. It had worked well for them and it would have continued to do so until Emma was willing to delve into that dark part of her past.

Now it was out in the open. Like a festering wound, left unattended, it would cause considerable damage.

Emma opened her mouth to speak, but she barely managed a single word before lips rushed to cover her own. Regina was not one for public affection, this Emma knew, and neither was she, but the desperation and need that the brunette poured into the kiss spoke volumes.

When they broke apart, Emma’s hand gripped tightly onto Regina’s hip, prevented her from moving too far.

‘What was that?’

‘I just wanted to do that,’ Regina shrugged. ‘I wanted you to know that I understand and that we don’t have to talk about this unless you want to.’

Emma kissed her again.

* * *

The ceremonial blossoming of the Rainbow Cherry Blossom tree was held at the beach. As impressive as these plants sounded, they weren’t all they were cracked up to be. In reality, they were about the size of a bonsai—small and convenient for transportation. They were lined up across the beach hundreds if not thousands of them, and briefly Emma wondered where the nuns even kept them.

Of course, as Mayor, Regina was required to address the crowd, but she had decided to pass the honor on to Blue this year. Emma had heard the woman mention that it wasn’t her tradition, only one that had been brought on when she had been married of to Leopold. Emma didn’t push the subject and respected Regina’s wish to remain mum, just as she wished not to talk about Cora.

In their defense, these occurrences were times in their lives they would rather remain buried. Emma had plenty of chances to sort through these awful events alongside Mary Margaret and Regina had spoke to Archie about her own issues. It was better if these wounds weren’t reopened after finally managing to close them.

They found a seat amongst the crowd, shoulder-to-shoulder, hands tracing each other like lovers of yore, a smile dancing on their lips as they waited for the stroke of midnight.

It was then that Regina happened to spot David and Mary Margaret several feet away, as attached to the hip as they had always been.

‘It seemed as though they’ve mended their differences?’

Emma followed her gaze and pulled her lips into a thin line. ‘Not exactly. They’re trying to make it work. Mary Margaret suggested another baby should fix what’s broken.’

‘So, she _is _still the naive princess I know and despise.’ Regina turned to Emma. ‘How are _you _dealing with that? A little brother or sister—the thought must be... _frightening_. _And _with the Charming gene. Poor babe never even stood a chance.’

‘You’re mean.’

‘How utterly _demeaning_,’ her mouth twitched. ‘I’m _evil_, my dear. It would do you well to remember that.’

‘Perhaps, but you’re not as threatening as you seem to think.’ Emma looked down at their joined hands. ‘Especially not when you’re around Henry and I.’

Regina harrumphed, but she didn’t try and persuade the witcher otherwise – meaning that she agreed with her.

‘I’m dealing with it as best I can,’ Emma sighed. ‘Mary Margaret and I talked about it and we reached some common ground.’

‘That’s good.’

They turned their attention back towards the cherry blossoms, watching as Blue continued to address the crowd. They had been so caught up in each other that they had failed to notice the beginning of the fae's speech and thus had missed most of it.

‘So, what’s the big deal with this festival?’ Emma leaned closer to Regina, whispering in her ear. ‘Beside it being, you know, _spring_ and the blooming of these trees?’

‘You’ve never seen a rainbow cherry blossom bloom?’

Emma shook her head.

‘A pity, then,’ Regina hummed, her eyes drifting to the small, pink leafy plants. ‘It’s quite beautiful. Legend says that spirits live in them and each year their offering of the fruit is their gratitude for the year that had passed.’

‘I’m not really one for superstition.’ 

‘And yet your job entails dealing with the unexplainable every day.’ Regina raised an eyebrow in her direction. ‘Face it, witcher, between you and I, you make a livelihood from it.’

Emma shrugged her shoulders, not bothered by the accusation in the least. ‘What’s the cherries' magical properties? There must be a reason the fae are so stingy.’

‘These cherries are said to have great magical properties. There’s a myth that says it could even reverse infertility.’

‘Well, why do Blue and her posse need it? It’s not like they’re really into reproduction.’

Regina muffled her amusement against Emma’s shoulder, desperately trying to prevent herself from omitting an undignified sound. Ever the queen, Regina cleared her throat before humming her agreement.

‘No, I suppose they don’t.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I suppose, in the wrong hands, they can be used for evil just as much as they can be used for good. If used correctly, these cherries could bring about immortality just like pixie dust.’

‘No wonder they want it all to themselves,’ Emma groused. ‘Bunch of selfish pricks, if you ask me.’

‘Yes, well, you won’t see me shed a tear on their behalf.’

Emma was about to respond, but a hushed whisper fell over the crowd. The lighting in the distance was disabled and Blue had stopped speaking altogether. Instead, like the other fae, she moved in between the cherry blossom trees, her one hand wrapped around a bag to collect the cherries for the harvest.

That was when it happened.

In the echo of the darkness, one after the other, the rainbow cherry blossoms began to light up in a myriad of colors. They nearly blinded Emma as she stared in awe, watching as some of the flowers opened to reveal a similar color of cherries, the size of marbles.

It wasn’t often that beauty could overwhelm her. She had seen a lot of the world in her years on the Path. She had had her fair share of women and landscapes. But nothing compared to the burst of colors emitted from the trees.

The fae moved between the trees, collecting the fruits bore by them, and proceeding to toss them into their sacks. Though, even when the cherry was plucked from the branch, the colors did not fade. It continued to glow even from within the dark abyss of the fae’s bags.

Hours must have passed, but when the fae had collected every cherry, Regina husked into Emma’s ear. ‘This will last several more hours. Let’s slip away, shall we?’

Emma could only nod dumbly.


	15. As Far as Brains Go

Regina defined Emma as an exhibitionist.

The witcher saw no ethical problem parading down in the kitchen dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers while she cooked breakfast. In fact, Regina wasn’t sure the witcher even knew she was half-naked. Emma had never been modest before her time in the Enchanted Forest, as Regina vividly recalled a pair of red lace panties and a tank top upon deliverance of a threatening basket of apples. However, she seemed to only have gotten worse over the years.

Fortunately, Regina wasn’t one to complain.

Emma was well built, her pale skin well-toned from her years of vigorous training. Though Regina could see her profession had never been kind to her nor had it ever offered her rest. When she had first laid eyes on the witcher’s scarred body, she had forced herself to look away. Not just because of her bright red cheeks at the time, but because she had wanted to respect Emma’s need to keep most things private.

Regina traced her fingers along the jagged scars running across Emma’s back, vaguely aware of the goosebumps forming underneath her touch. If Emma had known of her presence, she hid it well. She tensed for a moment before she relaxed against Regina’s touch, humming her approval.

‘Good morning,’ Emma’s gruff voice greeted, still laced with sleep. ‘You know, getting out of bed spoils half the fun. I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.’

Regina rolled her eyes. ‘And you know how much I despise crumbs in my bedding.’

‘That’s because you have a stick up your ass, Madame Mayor.’ 

‘And _you’re _entirely too easy going.’

‘Workaholic.’

‘Bum.’ She pressed a kiss to the crook of Emma’s neck, running her tongue across the hickey she had proudly left there the previous evening. ‘Honestly, couldn’t you hold a honest job?’

Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘Being the Sheriff isn’t an honest job?’ 

‘My dear, you could be a doctor and you would still end up getting yourself into trouble.’

‘You know, you could be a little nicer.’

‘But then I wouldn’t be the woman you fell in love with, now, would I?’

Emma tensed underneath Regina’s touch. 

If she hadn’t known any better, she would say the blonde had become frozen in fear altogether. Perhaps the bold statement had been too much too soon. After all, Emma had her difficulties with commitment. Her experience in foster care didn’t aid with that and her time on the Path had only strengthened her resolve to keep moving without tying herself down to any one place.

However, things were different as of late. Emma was loyal and reliable to a fault. She helped with Henry, instilling an ensemble of discipline. She stood by Regina without hesitating for a second, even when she didn’t agree with her method of addressing a situation. Emma wasn’t going anywhere, she wanted fo stay.

And Regina was only further convinced of this when the witcher relaxed in her touch.

She didn’t answer in so many words, but she turned around to face the sorceress, the remnants of a grin playing on her lips. Emma was practically glowing.

‘I made you an omelette: bacon, cheese, mushrooms.’ Emma tilted her head back in self-appraisal. ‘Your _favorite_.’

‘My, aren’t we confident in our culinary skills.’

‘Only because I know you’ll insult me if I serve you crap.’ Emma pressed a kiss to her lips. ‘Come on. I’m starving.’

They sit down at the kitchen table—Regina’s hair frazzled, and Emma still hadn’t bothered finding a shirt. The food smelled delicious, the humble aroma of spices mixing together and serving as a reminder she hadn’t eaten since the previous evening. 

Regina thought on how she could use more days like this. She adored Henry with every fiber of her being, but if she could start a day with an unrestricted view of Emma’s finely toned torso, then she wouldn’t mind sending him off to more sleepovers every so often.

‘I see you decided to put in the effort?’ Regina hummed her approval, savoring the creamy taste on her tongue. ‘How pleasantly surprising, Miss Swan.’

‘I’m glad you like it.’ She nodded coyly. ‘I added red pepper flakes. Thought you of all people would appreciate that.’

‘I would, and I do.’ Regina filled her fork with another helping. ‘You are just full of surprises, aren’t you? A damaged artist _and _a cook. I feel like the cat that got the cream.’

‘You were pretty pleased with yourself last night, too.’ Emma glanced away, gaining a dreamy far off gaze. ‘We broke the bed.’

‘I’m ecstatic to know what they say about witchers isn’t entirely false.’ Regina’s voice dripped with sin. ‘Those mutations of yours certainly do come in handy to keep up with me.’

‘Keep up with you?’ Emma scoffed. ‘Pretty sure you passed out before I did.’

‘_Please_,’ Regina rolled her eyes. ‘It was a draw, dear.’

Emma looked ready to argue, but instead decided to remain quiet. She stretched, placing her chest on full display, yawning her evident exhaustion, before lazily scratching the back of her neck. Her cat-like eyes find the living room.

‘What’s the unicorn kink about, though?’

Regina followed her gaze to where her stuffed unicorn stood on display. It wasn’t real as Regina did not enjoy the suffering of innocent animals—she never had. Even during her reign, she suffered even more for the innocent creatures that died a meaningless death at her hands. It was a fake, but as lifelike as one could possibly get.

It was a magnificent creature on whose back she liked to make love. In contrast to the witcher, who considered her bed a luxury and valued the applications the wonderful piece of furniture had offered her in the past, Regina was, and had always been, wildly inventive. 

‘Oh, I’ve always been an adventurous girl.’ Regina hummed pleasantly, leaning forward and bracing her chin in her palm. ‘It’s something you’ll soon come to grip with, Miss Swan.’

Emma raised an eyebrow. ‘So, this isn’t a one-time thing?’

‘If it were, I would have kicked you out by now.’

‘Oh,’ Emma wasn’t surprised by that. ‘Good.’

They fell into a comfortable silence, finishing their meal and switching from their glasses of orange juice to coffee. Gravitating towards one another was inevitable and soon Regina’s eyes were once again tracing along each scar on Emma’s exposed upper body. The thought that struck Regina was that they were beautiful; they added to who the witcher was as a person and how strong she had had to be.

The scar across her left eye was a gift from a Cockatrice. The mark burnt into her left temple was a reminder of their run-in with the demon. Two jagged circles in her chest reminded Regina just how close Emma had come to death at the hands of a boy, not much older than Henry, with a pitchfork. There were many more that reminded Regina just what a dangerous profession Emma had taken on. One that wouldn’t just let her go now that it had sunk its teeth into her flesh.

An old injury caught Regina’s attention. Emma’s old swan pendant, one she had been overly fond of, had been burnt into her chest just above her right breast. Regina also hadn’t seen the necklace since her return nor had Emma been overindulgent in any information as she had been with the rest of her scarring the previous evening.

Regina reached forward and skimmed her hand across the jagged flesh. Emma shivered at the touch and grabbed at her wrist.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t—’ Regina began to apologize, averting her gaze.

‘No, I...’ Emma shook her head. ‘You just caught me off-guard. I hadn’t thought about that stupid thing in years. Or at least I try not to.’

Regina was like a dog with a bone. ‘How did it happen?’

‘...You’re not going to like the answer.’

A low growl escaped Regina instantly at the blonde’s choice of words. Immediately, she turned Emma’s grip around and pulled her hand to her lips. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the inside of Emma’s wrist, right on the small Lyon flower painted from her youth.

She already had her answer, from Emma’s reluctance to speak about Cora to the look of sympathy that crossed her amber eyes. Cora had been responsible for that scar and no doubt some of the other ones, too.

‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Regina, her voice thick with emotion. ‘I wish she would never have laid a hand on you.’

Gently, Emma pulled the brunette out of her seat and into her lap. ‘I wish she had never laid a hand on _you_.’

It was daunting, now that it was in the open. What had previously made her want to drown the endless abyss surrounding her. They shared this pain—there in that moment and in their past. Regina thought it selfish of her to think it made her pain easier to bear.

Their peace and quiet was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening with a burst, the safety lock skittering across the hallway with a clatter. Emma scrambled for her weapon, not ever far out of range, conveniently placed underneath the counter. Regina conjured a fireball, her nostrils flaring at the intrusion and preparing to incinerate the assailant where they stood.

However, a curious sound filled the air.

‘..._Shit_. They’re gonna _kill _me when I get home.’

Emma recognized the voice instantly, Regina noticed. The witcher’s head shot up and her grip on the hilt of her sword momentarily relaxed. Before Regina could inquire any form of an explanation, Emma moved to address the situation... _shirtless_.

Regina panicked and moved to stop the witcher, but it was too late. They step out of the kitchen and into the hallway to find the source of their nuisance.

Pan floated next to the door, waving his hand to repair the damage he had done to the safety lock. Next to him, a panicked Latchboy was holding it in place, eyes wide and filled with fear. They tossed accusations back on forth, debating which one’s fault it was, oblivious to the sorceress and witcher’s presence.

Regina cleared her throat.

‘Fuck!’ Latchboy rounded on them. ‘Are you _trying _to give me a—Woah!’

He slapped his hand over his eyes at the sight of Emma, the tips of his ears now a healthy shade of red. If he reddened even further, he would be able to rival a ripe tomato. Pan looked unbothered by the sight, floating down leisurely, as he crossed his arms over his chest. Regina swore she could see a smirk evident underneath the boy’s mask. 

Regina dragged her gaze towards Emma, who now stood with her sword resting on her shoulder, her lips pulled into a thin line. As unimpressed by Pan and the Lost Boy’s presence as she was, she was still unaware of the fact that her breasts were out there for all to see.

‘A bit drafty in here, isn’t it?’ Pan questioned cheekily, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. ‘Wouldn’t want to catch a cold, now, would we, Mistress Witcher?’

Emma glanced down at herself, then scowled. ‘I’ve got more important things to worry about than my state of undress. Like why two little _thieves _are in _my _house?’

‘_Your _house?’

‘_Our _house,’ she snapped. ‘Whatever. Is this _really _the time for this?’

‘Should we come back?’ Latchboy sassed. ‘It looked to me like the two of ye were in the middle of something. We’d hate to interrupt a lovers' spat.’

‘Kid, you two better have a damn good explanation for this, or I’m just going to strangle you instead of arresting you.’

Emma took a step forward; Pan followed her example. They stood their ground proudly, subconsciously protecting that which stood behind them. Regina allowed herself a moment of insanity, for the resemblance was uncanny.

‘We need to talk,’ insisted the boy. ‘It’s important. All of our lives depend on it.’

Emma lowered her sword, glancing in Regina’s direction. ‘We’re listening.’

* * *

Trudging through the sewers was not how Emma imagined she’d spend her Saturday, but there she was with a Queen, an urchin and a thief—the epitome of a bad joke.

No, she had imagined her and Regina spending the day in; she imagined a lazy day. They wouldn’t go anywhere or see anyone. Henry was still at the school’s version of the festival, her parents and the townsfolk still at the festival itself, and it was her weekend off. There were supposed to be no monsters, no villains, no _children _to keep her from being selfish and taking the time to appreciate the woman in her life.

However, fate had never been kind to her.

So, she had dressed in her armor, tightened her swords’ scabbards, and begrudgingly allowed Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb to lead her and Regina down the Rabbit’s hole, so to speak. Even if the rotten kids still had her tome, and the audacity to take it out in front of her as they guided them through the pungent smells and the soaked floors.

‘At some point,’ Emma groused, ‘I’m gonna want that back.’

Pan didn’t even look up, ‘And you’ll _get it back_. Eventually. But right now, I need it more than you do.’

‘You know what, kid, I’m this close to—’

‘Emma,’ Regina warned, gently taking her wrist. ‘This isn’t helping anything.’

She could see the sorceress was out of her element, and unhappy to be so. Mucking through ruins and sewers was Emma’s expertise, magic and research Regina’s. Emma could tell by the face of distain Regina made in the direction of her attire and boots, she would burn them once they had completed their task.

Speaking of which...

When Pan and Latchboy had barged into their home at eight o’ clock in the morning, the only thought that had crossed Emma’s mind was to arrest them and carry on with the rest of her day as if they had never set foot into her foyer. However, the longer they talked, the more Emma began to realize that this wasn’t about the two thieves at all.

While Emma and her deputies were running themselves ragged in an attempt to find a substantial amount of dirt on Jeremy Irons and his business, Pan and Latchboy had conducted their own investigation. More importantly, what they had uncovered... it shook Emma to her core and Regina as well.

It all came down to a single name:

_Cora_.

The thought of that woman sent a shiver down Emma’s spine even if she didn’t hold a shred of fear in her body. She could feel the tenseness radiating off Regina, too, and it wasn’t hard to determine where her mind had gone. What made it that much worse was that _Cora _and _Resurrection _should never be in the same sentence.

Necromancy was strictly forbidden as it disturbed those who had already passed on. But Pan insisted that this wasn’t that. No, what Irons had planned was to bring Cora back from the dead. 

How had Emma missed it? 

She and Jefferson had become drinking buddies after he had been cut off at the Rabbit Hole. The owner had called Emma because he had gotten into a dispute with one of the other customers. When she had dragged him off the ground and managed to drag him over to the squad car, he had confessed it was the anniversary of his wife’s death. Emma had scolded him for not spending time with his daughter instead of getting piss drunk. Jefferson had shouted back he was trying to bring his wife back from the dead. He had insisted it could work, and Emma had indulged him so that he could have someone to talk to.

Jefferson had gotten killed because he must have figured out how to do it and Scar killed him because he wanted to tell Emma.

Whale, he had brought someone back from the dead before; granted he had lost an arm doing so. He could probably do it again with Jefferson’s research and this time he would actually succeed. That’s why Scar had his lackeys kidnap him.

Emma didn’t know what was worse: Cora being brought back from the dead, or these whoresons desecrating someone that had moved on. It made Emma’s blood boil and her hands shake with fury. 

‘Emma.’ Regina grabbed her wrist and the two boys moved a few more spaces to stop and continue inspecting the tome. ‘Are you all right?’

‘There’s two things I ultimately hate in this world: portals and Cora _fucking _Mills. How do you think I’m doing?’ Emma grunted more venomously than she intended, but the thought of seeing the woman again left her with an onslaught of terrifying emotions.

Regina raised a sculpted eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest.

Emma sighed, ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.’

‘My dear, you don’t _snap_; you grunt like a neanderthal.’

‘Is this really the best time to antagonize me?’ Emma glanced away, unable to meet Regina’s empathetic gaze. ‘I’m terrified out of my mind. That kind of thing gets a witcher killed; more importantly, it gets those around them killed.’

Regina tightened her grip on Emma’s wrist. ‘No one is getting killed today. Not you nor I. Not those two thieves over there pretending to be solely focused on an _upside down _witcher tome.’

Latchboy glanced up with a sheepish grin while Pan stayed committed to the ruse.

‘The only person who is likely to meet their untimely demise, is Jeremy Irons.’ Regina grabbed Emma by her chin and forced the woman to look up at her. ‘Look at me, when I’m speaking to you.’

Emma couldn’t take it anymore; the stress of the situation and the way Regina looked at her with such fierce determination snapped something in her. She rammed her lips into the brunette’s pulling her impossibly close. Regina returned the heated kiss with just as much vigor, a passion unquenched even after the night they had spent together.

They pulled apart when Pan cleared his voice. ‘If you’re finished...?’

‘Shut it, kid,’ Emma growled. ‘If it was up to me, I’d be spending my Saturday in bed accomplishing heroic feats of my own.’

Regina smacked her shoulder.

They forged ahead through the sewers, Emma taking the lead. Once they had reached their destination directly below the cannery. They took a ladder up into the building, exiting the sewer one by one and as quietly as they could. Despite her brutish size, Emma moved more quietly than any of her other three companions.

The cannery was far too quiet than what Emma would have liked. The only sounds that echoed through the dark and vast structure was creaks from the building itself and the old machinery that surrounded them.

Emma unsheathed her sword, Pan and Latchboy following her lead. Emma retrieved a vial from within one of her pouches and popped its cork. As the red liquid made its way into her system, she could feel the veins in her body bulge and her eyes tingling as it began to glow. She clenched her jaw when a droplet of blood dripped from her nose and landed on the ground. It sizzled upon contact, the poison disappearing into thin air.

Emma knelt when her eyes caught onto something.

‘That’s interesting,’ she noted.

‘What?’ Regina followed her lead, glancing around at what the witcher had spotted. ‘What is it that you see?’

‘Bloodstains—see them?’

Regina looked down again, then back up when she couldn’t spot what the witcher was referring to. ‘No. Unlike you, witcher, I don’t have superhuman senses.’ She knelt down next to Emma, a look of consideration on her features. ‘Can you tell whom they belong to?’

‘Right,’ Emma sighed. ‘Well, they’re fresh. Not a day old.’ She leaned forward, sniffling. ‘It’s Whale’s.’

‘You got that from a spec of blood on the floor that we can’t even see?’ Latchboy questioned in awe.

‘Speak for yourself,’ Pan huffed. ‘I can see it, too.’

Emma hesitated when she looked to the boy. ‘You’re a witcher?’

‘It’s complicated,’ the boy hummed, almost amused.

‘I thought the _Trial of Grasses _were no longer practiced on children?’ Emma ignored the horrific look spread out on Regina’s face, not wanting to upset the woman. 

‘Well, let’s just say I’m a special case.’

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ Emma’s eyebrows knitted together as she looked between Pan and Latchboy.

Latchboy shrugged his shoulders. ‘Good luck gettin' a straight answer out of him, Sheriff. I’ve known the lad for quite some time now and he still won’t tell me his real name.’

Emma opened her mouth to retort; her medallion began to tremble. The lion’s figurehead jolted in its awakening informing Emma of the powerful magic in the area. She gripped her sword and motioned to the others to remain silent.

All hell descended in the blink of an eye.

* * *

Emma’s sword severed another hyena’s head from its shoulders, blood painting her pale features. 

It had been some time since she had last fought in a war. Attackers from all sides, comrades by your side—it would have been thrilling had Emma not known what awaited them when the shapeshifters fell. The hyenas were the distraction; they were buying more time for Irons to prepare whatever he needed for Cora’s resurrection. By the time they had gotten rid of the overflow of enemies, it would be too late.

She dodged just in time as a fireball shot passed her, narrowly missing her face and singeing her eyelashes.

‘Hey!’ Emma growled, catching one of the hyenas by its throat mid-air. ‘Watch where you’re tossing those things, _Your Majesty_!’

‘Pay attention to your surroundings next time,’ Regina growled, her back colliding against Emma’s.

Pan and Latchboy followed their lead, using their height to an advantage and easily slipping in between the onslaught. 

‘There’s too many of them for us to be able to subdue them _and _reach Irons in time,’ Regina pointed out. ‘You need to go.’

‘What?’

‘I can fend off long enough to create an opening for you to escape.’ Regina released to sets of fireballs, striking one of the hyenas in the face while the other grazed another’s shoulder. ‘You need to stop him.’

‘Regina, don’t be daft,’ Emma snapped, a fierce protectiveness entering her voice. ‘I’m not just going to leave you here and probably get yourself killed.’

‘I’ll be fine, godsdamnit. But Storybrooke certainly won’t be if you don’t stop that maniac from bringing that monster back!’

‘I’m not leaving you!’

‘Listen to me, you fool.’ Regina sounded exasperated and she had grown impatient with Emma. ‘If Irons resurrects my mother, what do you think will happen? What will happen to Henry?’

Emma clenched her jaw. When she had run her blade through Cora’s chest the first time was because she had asked herself that exact same question. She had been thinking about Henry and Regina, and everyone else she needed to protect against the witch.

‘She will turn this town into ash. And she will take Henry and I away from you.’ Regina’s voice cracked when she added, ‘And she’ll _kill _you.’

She wanted to argue, but she knew the woman was right. It was by sheer dumb luck that she had survived going up against Cora in the Enchanted Forest. Emma had _barely _even done that. If Cora were to return, she would be able to bring about more harm and suffering to Regina and their family.

Emma sighed. ‘I’m not going to let that happen.’

‘Then, go.’

‘If you die, Regina, I swear I’ll—’

‘I’d kiss you right now, but I’m afraid I’m a little occupied.’

As if on cue, a hyena lunched for the sorceress, only to be scorched by Regina’s impeccable aim. The hyena dropped to the floor like a sack of bones, its flesh sizzled like the other victims that had been so ill fated to encounter one of Regina’s fireballs.

‘On my count.’ Regina turned towards her, the window of opportunity growing smaller as the hyenas circled around them. ‘I’ll teleport you into the next room.’

‘Oh, no,’ Emma hissed. ‘Not another portal.’

Regina gave her an affectionate smile. ‘Stop whining.’

Emma closed her eyes.

.

.

.

_1..._

_._

_._

_._

_2..._

The floor opened beneath her and swallowed her whole. When she appeared on the other side, she collided on the Cannery’s cemented floor, her sword skidding out of her grasp upon impact.

_...3_

Gods-damnit! 

Hadn’t Regina ever heard of a warning?

Emma took in her surroundings, scraping herself off the floor. She found her sword lying a few feet away and retrieved it into the safety of her scabbard. Emma wasn’t certain which part of Storybrooke’s Cannery she had wound up in, but she was thankful that Regina didn’t teleport her into one of the machineries.

It looked like another storage unit—crates of goods stacked atop of each other, ready to be transported, forklifts to move some of the crates from one part of the warehouse to the other. Emma hadn’t known the business was so advanced or well-funded.

She doesn’t have to search for to long before she discovers wide open flooring. She knelt down to inspect the magical circle drawn on the ground, touching the oozing red liquid. Lifting it to her nose, she sniffled.

_Whale_.

Emma glanced up, spotting the glass coffin in the middle of the circle. She could feel her medallion’s continues trembling, but she forged ahead anyways. Inside lay none other than the remains of Cora Mills. Her body had somehow been preserved throughout the years; her skin still as wrinkled as Emma remembered.

What could Irons gain from this? What could Cora offer him that he didn’t already have?

‘Well, isn’t _this _a surprise?’

Her body snapped in reaction, she turned, drew her sword. She couldn’t see Irons, only shadows that bounced off the walls. Emma tightened her grip onto her sword, baring her teeth like an animal.

‘Irons, you bastard, show yourself!’ 

She was too emotional; she wasn’t thinking clearly. Emma could feel her heart hammer in her chest, but the effects of the potion would soon wear off. _Then _she would be in trouble. There wasn’t time to pop the cork of another vial either, not without the fear of the lion charging out of nowhere and attacking her.

‘Oh, _so commanding_,’ he taunted, his voice echoing around her. ‘You sound just like my brother.’

Emma sniffed, ‘Too bad you had him killed.’

‘Ah, so you’ve heard my story?’

‘I met your nephew, actually.’ Emma’s gaze shifted around the warehouse, never leaving Cora’s coffin as she rotated around her. ‘Nice kid, strong leader.’

A growl emanated from Irons’s chest. ‘How is the little brat? Dead, I hope.’

‘Alive and well, which is more than I’ll be able to say about you in a few minutes.’

Irons chuckled, his amusement a hollow echo that made Emma clench her jaw. The man’s shadows continued to dance, confusing Emma as she tried to pinpoint where they were coming from.

‘You’re so _sure _of yourself,’ he chuckled. ‘My dear, you have _no _idea who you are playing with. I’ve been at this far longer than you have. The possibility of you outwitting me is astronomically low.’

Emma’s ear twitched when a sudden _clank _filled the air and craned her neck to discover the source of the strange sound.

‘You see, witcher, my brother was the one who inherited _brute strength_ from our father, but as far as brains go, I got the _lion’s _share.’

‘So, all of this was just a part of your master plan—Jefferson, Whale, the hyenas—all just a ploy to... what? Bring back an old lover?’

‘Astute of you, Miss Swan.’ Irons’s tone was filled with mock, adding salt to Emma’s festering wounds. ‘I needed Jefferson’s research notes on resurrection, and then his world crossing capabilities to retrieve my beloved. I was able to restore what you had attempted to take from her; I’ve restored her youth.’

Emma rolled her eyes at the exasperation. ‘And Whale? Where’s he?’

‘The doctor?’ Irons paused, as if it was difficult to recall what he had done to the man. ‘Oh, I needed his intellect to decipher Jefferson’s research, and then I needed his blood for the sacrifice.’ 

Emma looked around her, eyes scanning the circle once again. This was no doubt all that remained of the unfortunate quack.

_Bastard!_

That was when he pounced; that small distraction was the opportune moment to strike. Irons crept from the shadows, leaping into Emma’s back before he sank his canines into her neck. The sharpened teeth pierced the exposed flesh and Emma sunk to her knee at the force of the attack. She mewled pushing away at the lion’s head, desperately trying to force his head away with a few pathetic pushes.

Having satisfied himself on the small appetizer, he pulled back, wiping his lips on his suit. He gave a satisfied groan, taking pleasure in the taste of the witcher’s blood. However, when Emma rose to her feet, the smile on his lips fell away.

Pain shot through the shifter as he grabbed for his throat, a wonderful sizzling sound filling Emma’s ears. He looked at her in horror, realization striking him. She had poisoned her own blood in the anticipation that he would bite her.

‘Lucky for me, _as far as brains go_, I got the lion’s share,’ she tossed back. ‘Like the taste? It’s a special mix just for you, Irons. The toxin damages your inner organs, attacks your red blood cells, and leaves behind a rather unpleasant mark. Oh, and let’s not forget the severe hallucinations.’

‘You bitch!’ 

Emma could already see the change in the lion’s complexion, the green hue to his veins. The toxin might not be enough to kill Irons, but it would slow him down for Emma.

She glided to the left as Irons blew past her, raising her sword to bring it across his side. It tore through his tailored suit, then through his flesh. Blood stained the silver blade and spilled on the floor. A pained roar tore from the creature’s throat, desperately gripping at his wound. He whirled on Emma.

‘You know what I realized during your little monologue?’ Emma walked backwards, behind the coffin. Irons watched her carefully, readying to pounce despite his rapid decrease in blood and strength. ‘I realized that you need Cora, and not just to satisfy whatever sick sexual fantasy you could conjure up.’

Irons lip twitched, and Emma knew she had hit the nail on the head. From her back pouch, she retrieved a green vial. Despite her differences with the dwarves, they had no problem with selling her Dwarven Spirit. As far as drinks go, it was too strong for her taste, and she would be under the table after half a bottle. However, it made for an excellent accelerant.

‘You see, you can’t use magic,’ Emma pointed out, her voice thick with a condescending tone. ‘After your nephew banished you from the pride lands, sending you to live in exile, they stripped you from your powers.’

‘They took what _belonged _to me!’ Irons bellowed, but he did not approach. His hand fell from his side to reveal the cut she had managed to leave there. The blood was no longer oozing from the injury, but it had not healed. The toxin had slowed his superior healing somewhat. ‘_I _am the rightful ruler! _I _am the _King_!’

‘Not here, you’re not,’ Emma taunted. ‘There are no kings here. Here, you’re just a man; you’re just a monster. And you need Cora for her magic—to be able to cross over into my world.’

‘_Congratulations_, witcher. You’re not as dull as I previously presumed.’

‘And you’re not as clever as I gave you credit for.’ 

Emma shoved the glass lid off the coffin; it shattered upon impact, glass shards scattering over the floor. She bit into the cork and yanked it from the vial before she doused Cora’s body. By the time Irons had realized what she planned on doing, it was too late. She sheathed her sword, drew a sign midair and watched as the flames spewed onto the woman’s corpse, setting it aflame.

Irons roared, a desperate and screeching sound that made Emma’s ears ring. It nearly disoriented her, but the man had sprinted forward to save what he could of Cora. Emma rounded the coffin, tackling Irons onto the ground. She rammed her fist into his face, set on beating him to a pulp.

His nails transformed into claw-like digits and pierced them into the gap of her armor. She growled in pain as Irons shoved them deeper into her side. Resisting the excruciating agony, Emma drew her hunting knife and brought it down towards his head. He stopped the blade just in time before she connected it with his head.

The battle for dominance ensued, neither one nor the other managing to gain the upper hand on the other, even as Emma currently sat atop the man. She lifted her hand and slammed it down into the pommel of her blade, trying to close the distance between it and Irons.

‘You fool,’ he ground out, baring his teeth. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’

‘You can’t return a soul to a burnt corpse,’ Emma grunted, sweat dripping down her forehead. ‘There’s also no chance of Cora becoming a wraith now that she’s nothing but smoldering ashes.’

Another roar tore from Irons and he kicked her backwards, sending her flying onto the bloody floor. The hair tie came loose, her hair soaking in blood, she looked up just in time to see Irons raising her own blade against her. She rolled to the side just as the knife dug into the part of the floor where her head had been a few moments ago. It sunk into the cement with a screech.

Emma drew her sword again as Irons swung the weapon around frantically, his pattern following no particular fighting style now that he had grown desperate to put an end to their fight.

They pushed against each other like tidal waves against the shore, resuming their battle of strengths.

‘I’m going to _kill _you,’ he growled, releasing an unhinged laugh as he bared his teeth. His own locks of hair fell out of place making him look wild. ‘I’ll kill you with your own blade and feed you to my hyenas. Then...’ he giggled, delighted at the prospect. ‘Then... the queen and I will have a little... _talk_. It would be so _easy_; she appears to be eager to spread her legs for every wonton freak that she—’

Emma roared as she thrusted her blade through Irons’s chest. She pushed him backwards, sending him stumbling until they bumped into one of the nearby containers. When they collided against the surface, Emma slammed her hand down onto the pommel of her sword until it was sheathed to the hilt.

She leaned forward, spitting, ‘You won’t lay a finger on her. In fact, my ugly mug is the last thing you’ll see before you meet our makers.’ Emma then grasped onto the hilt, pulling it free with one swift tug before she cut through the space between them.

Irons’s body slumped forward; another thud followed.

A nauseated feeling rose in Emma for the first time in over a decade. She slumped forward and emptied the breakfast contents of her stomach all over her boots.

She falsely blamed it on the smell and the adrenaline coursing through her instead of the horrible image of harm befalling Regina by the hands of the monster. It was irrational, she knew, but a part of her was still very much human.

And just like that, it’s over before it had truly begun. Irons’s blood painted the floor, staining Emma’s boots and the blood in her hair dried, sticking against her scalp. It would be a while before she would be able to sleep again; restless nights and turmoil awaited her after the new life she had claimed.

She dropped down against one of the crates, watching as Cora’s burning corpse still illuminated the warehouse. A moment later, Emma passed out, succumbing to the dark abyss due to her injuries.

* * *

‘You’re an idiot,’ Regina told her when she woke up, and Emma could distinctly see the tears that had welled up behind her eyes; relief that Emma wasn’t dead. ‘You’re an idiot!’

She hit her then, a slap across her pale flesh that left her cheek glowing red. They’re still in the warehouse, surrounded by blood and death, but Emma had never been so thankful to be at the mercy of her lover’s wrath.

Emma grabbed Regina by her cheeks, pulling the woman down so that their lips would meet. It’s neither sweet nor as rough as it had been the previous evening, but it was filled with desperation—desperation to make the moment between them that much more real.

When they broke apart, it was because Regina had bit down hard enough to draw blood.

‘Ow!’ Emma smirked despite the pain. ‘What was that?’

‘Foreplay, darling,’ she teased, pressing her forehead against Emma’s. Her tone grew more serious, her hands tightening at the back of Emma’s neck, the wound Irons had inflicted nothing more than scarring now. ‘What happened?’

‘Your mother and I had a... _heated _encounter.’ She glanced over towards the coffin, finding it only to he a pile of ash and embers. ‘Needless to say, I don’t think she approves in your choice for a partner.’

Regina scoffed, kissing her cheek, ‘When has she ever?’

Emma’s gaze drifted over to where Irons lay, his body now underneath draped sheets Regina had managed to be retrieved from somewhere. She released a sigh, looking back into Regina’s kind and accepting eyes.

‘I had no choice.’

‘I understand,’ Regina’s voice nothing but reassuring. ‘Henry will understand.’

‘I wouldn’t... I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else. Especially you.’

Regina smiled softly, ‘I’m all right. _We’re _alright.’

They sat there in silence, reminiscing in soft caresses and the security the other offered. Despite their need for rest and a shower—several of them—they needed this. They needed the reassurance of the other’s presence and the quiet love that radiated in their eyes.

Perhaps this wasn’t how Emma imagined their day turn out, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. What was their life without a weekly villain and near-death experiences? Emma preferred to be kept on her toes, and a life with Regina was exactly just that. 

A tired sigh escaped Emma, nuzzling her nose into Regina’s neck. ‘The boys?’

‘The little rascals took off before I could singe them with my fireballs.’

‘Well... at least they’re _safe_,’ she shrugged. ‘We can arrest them tomorrow.’

‘Speaking of which, we should probably call the Sheriff’s station.’

Emma hummed, ‘Probably.’

Though, neither of them attempted to move from their current spots. Emma only relaxed further against Regina, contented with the scent of apples and lilacs that washed over her.

Once, Emma had thought she had condemned herself to a witcher’s life. She had thought that she would carry on killing monsters even when the world lay in ruin, until some monster finally killed her. She had thought it her fate, her reason, her life and her attitude to the world she had been doomed to abide in. It had not been what she had chose, not willingly anyways. It had been chosen for her.

But then Regina had pulled the death curse from the well and brought them home. The sorceress had welcomed her into her home and then, slowly into her heart, even when it had been begrudgingly offered friendship.

Emma cupped Regina’s cheek, ‘I love you, 'Gina.’

The sorceress smiled. ‘I love you, Emma.’


	16. Epilogue: Something Ends, Something Begins

_There’s a grain of truth in every fairytale_, a foster mother had once told her; one that hadn’t been an alcoholic or beat her to a pulp for small nuisances. Emma recalled her fondly with an ache in her heart. If only the kind woman could have seen just how truthful fairytales were, and just how close within reach.

A month had passed since Scar’s defeat, and while the nightmares ran rampant and guilt ate away at Emma, things had somewhat settled down to a regular pace. Or as regular a pace as a fairytale town like Storybrooke could be. 

It had also been just as long since Emma had seen either Pan and his companion, Latchboy. They had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth and their mischief had evaporated just as quickly. As of the week prior, Regina had set up a program to reintroduce the Lost Boys to life outside of Neverland. They had each been matched with a family, and while they had their difficulties, they attended school alongside everyone else. Things in Storybrooke had... _changed_; it was... _better_.

Things weren’t different on an astronomical scale. Some of the townspeople were still vain and prideful, some children ran as soon as they saw her walking down the street and cats hissed when she approached, and people still had pitiful defenses against her and feared her for being different. But Emma had come to understand that she sun shined differently when something changed. The sun shined differently, but it would continue to shine.

Sunlight poured into the main bedroom of the manor, illuminating Regina’s beautiful olive skin. Emma had sat up, pressed flush against the slumbering woman; her hair a tussled mess. To say that Regina was a beauty did not do the woman justice. Emma had longed for so long for a moment like this; she had longed for that feeling of belonging. Being a witcher hadn’t stripped her of this. Emma had never stopped longing for a home.

And to see Regina in a state of complete bliss, filled with complete and utter trust that Emma would bring her no harm, made Emma think of how it was something out of a fairytale. Only _real _and _tangible_; it was something she could grab onto with both hands and never let go.

Emma’s calloused hand skimmed across the curve of Regina’s bare hip, listening to the steady beat of her heart and her relaxed breathing. She was still in a deep sleep, one that was bound to come to an end now that Emma had roused from her slumber. Another lazy smile crossed over her lips, unable to keep the swelling sensation inside her chest from pouring out.

Leaning forward, she nuzzled her nose into the smaller woman’s neck. It incited a tired groan and Regina began to shift in Emma’s touch. The blankets intertwined with her legs, trapping her from further movement, and she huffed out a frustrated sigh.

‘Miss Swan,’ she hissed; her voice laced with warning. ‘I’m _asleep_.’

Emma grazed a kiss on a bare shoulder. ‘I _know_.’

‘Then, for the life of me, I cannot understand why you would dare to disturb me. On a _Saturday _morning, nonetheless.’

‘Because Henry’s going to be up soon.’

It wasn’t fair playing their son against the brunette, but it worked most effectively. Regina tensed for a moment, then released another long-suffering sigh. She turned, facing Emma, before she leaned onto her elbow without even realizing that she had mimicked her lover.

Emma draped her eyes up and down Regina’s form. Not to gain a peek at anything for her own benefit, but to admire the woman next to her. Regina had confessed to her on one occasion that she always hated it when someone would remain in bed with her after intimacy, because the King had _demanded _it. It was the same reason she had often kicked Graham out the window rather than allowing him to leave through the backdoor.

The amount of trust Regina placed in her was overwhelming and she would never give the woman a reason to doubt that trust. 

Regina’s own eyes hungrily absorbed Emma’s pique physique. Though, her reasons weren’t as innocent as Emma’s given the gleam in her brown eyes.

‘You look ravishing this morning,’ Regina quipped; her eyes shined delightfully. ‘Good enough to to eat.’ She hummed and leaned forward. ‘In fact, I simply must take a bite out of you.’

True to her word, she sank her teeth into Emma’s shoulder, the exact same spot she had claimed the evening earlier. Emma pulled the woman closer, less by the need to pick up where they had left off the previous evening than for the sense of closeness she now suddenly longed for.

‘Insatiable,’ Emma accused good-heartedly.

Regina’s tongue soothed the inflamed skin and she smirked against the bruise. ‘Bold coming from a witcher.’

‘No, no.’ Emma shook her head. ‘Coming _from _a witcher is saying something. Last night was...’

‘A night of lovemaking I won’t soon forget.’ The coy smile on Regina’s lips made Emma roll her eyes. ‘Although there was one thing missing.’

‘Namely?’

‘I shall give you a hint: It’s large, white... has four legs. Category—taxidermy.’

Emma grunted.

That _gods-damned _unicorn.

Emma believed the only place less suited for their lovemaking would be the back of an actual, live unicorn. Over the course of their courtship, Regina had put this stuffed unicorn to good use as well as various other interesting places. Emma recalled pleasant moments with the sorceress spent with the sorceress on the slope of the Blanchard loft’s roof, in the hollow of a dead tree, David and Mary Margaret’s bed while they were _downstairs_, in the back of Granny’s diner during rush hour. But worst of all was that gods-damned _unicorn_.

One happy day, meaning last week, however, the thing had collapsed beneath them. It had ripped open with a great tear and broke into pieces as the couple had tumbled to the ground, causing their wild laughter to burst into the open air. Since then, Regina had been trying to convince the witcher that they should put it back into use now that Regina had fixed it.

‘No,’ Emma said firmly.

Regina smirked, pressing another kiss to Emma’s shoulder. ‘I knew you would see things my way.’

‘..._Gina_.’

‘Now, now, witcher,’ she hummed, pleased with herself. ‘So, many memories... I can’t _bring myself _to let it go.’

‘You’re stubborn.’

‘Pots and kettles, Miss Swan.’

‘Incorrigible.’

‘Insufferable.’ Though, the amused look on the sorceress’s face told Emma she gladly suffered through their time together.

‘Liar, you find me charming.’

‘About as charming as I find _Charming_.’ Regina scoffed, sitting up. ‘Perhaps you could rank as adequate, only slightly above your father.’

‘Gina, I can always tell when you’re lying.’ Then, with a warning lilt in her voice, she said, ‘And if you keep blushing like that, neither of us are going to leave this room in the next hour... or two.’

Regina hummed. ‘Or _three_.’

‘I mean it,’ she chuckled gruffly, speaking anything but the truth. ‘Henry will be up soon.’ It was more of a reminder to herself than it was meant to put a stop to the mischievous thoughts going through Regina’s mind.

‘Oh, very well,’ Regina groused, rising off the bed and dragging the blankets with her. ‘I must dress; close your eyes.’

Emma’s mouth quirked into a grin, watching Regina’s every movement.

She did make it out of bed eventually, albeit begrudgingly. She lazily pulled on a pair of her boxers, discarded on the floor the night before, then grabbed one of Regina’s more expensive looking silk robes. Regina argued Emma on the matter, annoyed with the blonde’s resistance to wear something of her own, but once it was on the brunette fell silent.

It was too easy to squeeze out a fluster from the woman.

They made their way downstairs, unable to keep their eyes off one another, and found Henry in the living room watching cartoons. He looked up from his bowl of cereal, eyeing the satin robe Emma wore.

‘Morning,’ he greeted. ‘Paige invited me over. We’re going skateboarding.’

‘That’s fine with me, dear.’ Regina plopped a kiss on his head before she padded towards the kitchen. ‘Do one of us need to go with you?’

Henry shook his head, calling after her, ‘No, that’s okay.’

Emma dropped down next to her son, catching a glimpse of _Tom and Jerry_. She leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms over her chest.

‘How’s Paige?’ she asked, tugging awkwardly at the bow of the robe. ‘She... _adjusting _well now that Jefferson’s killer is gone?’

Henry shrugged, ‘It’s hard, I guess. She still doesn’t like to talk about it and there are some days that are just... _bad_.’

Emma nodded her understanding. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to lose someone who’s raised you your whole life after finally being reunited with them. Sometimes, she still felt responsible for her friend’s death—for not seeing the signs beforehand and putting a stop to Irons sooner.

She was pulled from her self-pity when Henry grabbed her wrist, giving it a firm squeeze. Emma looked up at him, amber meeting his brown. Then, the boy smiled so warmly that Emma nearly choked on the emotion that rose up in her throat.

‘_Thank you_, Ma,’ he said; his voice firm. ‘For making sure he hadn’t died in vain.’

Emma gave a stiff nod, turning to look back at the television. On the screen, Tom handed a proposal ring to another cat. She twisted her mouth, unsure what exactly was going on in the episode, but she could feel Henry’s eyes on her.

It hadn’t been hard for him to accept that they were... _seeing _each other. In fact, Henry had been ecstatic. His excitement had also taken quite the load off Regina’s shoulders too given how nervous she had been about telling the boy. Though, the blossoming relationship had done little to affect their family trio. They had carried on as if nothing had changed, because little had. They had always been a family and this new development just added to that. 

‘You know,’ Henry began, ‘it’s probably none of my business... but I’m glad you and Mom ended up together.’

Emma looked towards the boy and allowed her lips to curl into a smile. ‘Me too.’

‘You took your time.’

At that, she laughed. ‘Guess we both needed to get used to the idea. I had been gone so long and your mother was baffled at how much I had changed when it was just yesterday, I rolled into town with you in the passenger seat of my bug.’

‘And you’re both stubborn.’

‘There’s that, too.’

‘All joking aside, you make her happy. Listen.’ Henry reached for the remote and turned the cartoons down. The only sound filling their ears was the melodious tune Regina was carrying from the kitchen, _the Wolven Storm_. ‘I can’t remember the last time she sang like that. Probably when I was a kid.’

‘You’re _still _a kid.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Henry sighed in exasperation. ‘My point is that she’s happy. You guys make each other happy, and that is all I want.’

‘Yeah,’ Emma hummed. ‘That’s all I want for your mom, too.’

Rising to her feet, Emma crossed the living room and entered the kitchen. She could hear Henry turning the tv up again, but she paid him little mind as she spotted Regina by the stove. The smell of bacon overwhelmed her senses and in a few short strides she pushed herself flushed against Regina.

‘Em-ma,’ the woman hissed when Emma breathed in her scent. ‘Henry’s in the living room.’

‘It’s fine,’ she insisted. ‘Smells great.’

‘I’m making us bacon and eggs.’

‘I wasn’t talking about the food.’

* * *

Despite Henry’s grievances on the matter of _PDA_, he loved knowing his parents were in a healthy relationship. From what he understood, Emma’s relationship with his father hadn’t been that great and his mother’s relationships had either been _to his great grandfather _or a blissful summer love ruined by his grandmother.

Henry tugged at his coat, checking for the umpteenth time if he had his phone and the money his parents had shoved into his hand before practically shoving him out the door. He didn’t know what they could possibly do in the few hours he was gone, but he figured he was better off not knowing or even entertain the idea that his parents ever... did _that_.

He made it a few steps off the porch when he spotted someone standing against the large oak tree in the garden.

‘Took you long enough,’ Latchboy said, huffing as he pushed himself off the bark. ‘I was wondering if Pan had timed it right.’

Henry stared blankly at the Lost Boy, preparing to yell in case he wanted to try something. After what had happened in Neverland, Henry was still a little unsure around the people who had essentially held him captive.

‘Can I help you?’ Henry squared his shoulders and clenched his hand around his skateboard. ‘I’m not supposed to—’

‘Mingle with us _common folk_,’ Latchboy stressed. ‘I’m not here to piss of the witch and Mistress Witcher. I’m just here to... _fulfill _Pan’s final request.’

‘_Final _request,’ Henry echoed with a raised eyebrow. ‘Where is he?’

‘He... went home.’

Latchboy appeared to be conflicted, troubled by knowledge that Henry didn’t have. Then, the boy stepped forward and retrieved a letter from inside his pocket as well as a small, leather bound notebook. He held them out to Henry.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s from him.’ Latchboy shrugged. ‘I didn’t read it; he told me not too. Apparently, I’d be screwing up the future if I did.’

Hesitantly, Henry reached forward and accepted both items. Despite his weariness, he hadn’t forgotten about the girl he had seen in the park or what she had said to him. By now, his curiosity had gotten to the point where it had nearly suffocated him.

Looking down, Henry spotted beautiful cursive writing on the front of the envelope. For a moment, he had forgotten how to breathe.

_To: My Big Brother_

‘What the hell?’

‘You can’t show that to anyone,’ informed Latchboy, voice filled with warning. ‘If it falls into the wrong hands or someone finds out who Pan is... Let’s just say whatever Scar had planned for this town would be considered merciful.’

Henry looked back up at the boy. ‘I don’t... I don’t understand.’

‘You will.’ Latchboy nodded, more to himself than to Henry. ‘He also asked me to give this to you.’ 

Latchboy reached for the backpack he had slung over his shoulder and then retrieved something inside. Henry watched as the Lost Boy extended Emma’s Witcher Tome towards him.

‘He said you’d know what to do with it.’

Henry accepted the item with shaking hands.

‘Something tells me I’ll be seeing you real soon, lad. Read the letter.’ Without another word, the boy walked down the pathway and left.

Henry’s gaze shifted between the notebook and the letter, then finally on the Witcher Tome, and once he had come to a decision, he set his skateboard down and tucked the notebook inside his coat’s pocket. He only hesitated for a moment before tearing the letter open.

** _Dear, Henry._ **

** _There’s so much I want to say and so little time to say it. I wished we could have gotten to know each other a little better, especially since our fates become intertwined so closely in the future._ **

** _I’m certain that by now you have figured out who I am, but I’d like to make a formal introduction. My name is Evangeline Swan-Mills, daughter of Emma Swan-Mills and Regina Swan-Mills. I am also, your sister. I realize that this must come as a shock to you or perhaps not at all, but I was conceived out of true love between our parents. However, this means that this entitles me to a great power. They call me the Lady of Time and like our mother Emma, fate had decided I must be a savior of some sort, too. I am burdened with a gift—a curse, the ability to bend time and the worlds to my will._ **

** _You must heed my words carefully, brother, for the fate of our parents now lies in your hands. I will tell you a secret, one I have kept to myself since I arrived in the past. You are the reason I had gone back in time, because you—the Author—had seen the death and destruction wrecked upon our home and family if I did not intervene. I understand you have many questions, and there are few that I can answer now._ **

** _I have left you a series of letters, each recording important events throughout the time I spent in your town. It is important that you keep this hidden from our mothers and that you never tell anyone who I am or what I must accomplish on my eighth birthday. You must also never allow them to see that you have the Witcher Tome in your possession. Keep the letters close, study them word by word, and when the time is right, you will know what to do._ **

** _All my love,_ **

** _Evie._ **

Henry stared unblinkingly at the letter; he reread it. Once. Twice. Then he looked up with a deep frown.

‘Why does weird shit like this keep happening to me?’

* * *

Witchers were made to kill monsters. It didn’t matter who posted the notice, the coin just had to be right. Witchers didn’t debate. Their conscience played no part. They just got on with it then picked up the coin pouch tossed at their feet and set off on their way. Folk didn’t expect witchers to save them from themselves.

But, in the end, people liked to invent monsters. Then, they themselves would seem less monstrous. They feel better then. They find it easier to live.

Emma Swan had seen much hatred in her life—most of which had been directed to her as a child and then as an adult when she had become as she was now. None of that seemed to matter. 

Henry had taken on the responsibility of training his younger sister from the day _the Lady of Time _had been born—raising her to become the prophetical savior of time and their parents. For you see, our young Author had been the one to set these events into place and it was Evangeline that had set her brother on this quest.

David did reconcile his differences with Emma and Mary Margaret even if it had taken them some time. As for David and Mary Margaret, they did end up conceiving a second child and named him after the late Robert, David’s father.

And what happened to the Witcher and the Sorceress?

As we know them, they continued to live out their lives amidst the townspeople, carrying on as they had always had. The noise and danger of politics and adventure always called to the couple more often than not. 

It would be many years before they decide to retire and choose to explore Emma’s home world. For now, they were content in their duties and responsibilities of being Storybrooke’s protectors and saviors. Neither straying too far from their families, nor the comfort of their bed.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] Song of the Lioness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20381932) by [Sarconistia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarconistia/pseuds/Sarconistia)


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